POETRY FROM THE PORCH

SELECTED POEMS FROM 2006

2012-01-28T00:00:00.001-08:00

The poems posted here on JANUARY 27, 2012 were all written in 2006. They are not the only poems written in 2006 but are selected from what has been previously published/posted on my MySpace.com blog during that year. There were also two complete collections not included in this current collection, posted in the MySpace blog in 2006 which were written in previous years -- MEET THE BEATS (poems dedicated to the Beat Generation writers and written over the preceding 30 years and collected on this blog here), and NATASHA'S PERIL (poems written in 2004 and published privately in a limited edition until their appearance in 2006 on MySpace).

The collection here features predominantly spontaneous, fairly unedited work that was written and almost immediately put into the MySpace blog. Not the most polished or ethereal scribblings ever but the energy and urging of the present moment makes their inclusion illustrative of the writing mind in a tumultuous, transistional, roller-coaster period.

The titles that appear are listed below appear in reverse chronological order than written. If you are the orderly type read from the bottom up. Don't ask.

APPETIZER
GRAPHIC ART
TIMES TWO
COMPASS POINTS
ESSENCE
POEM FOR THREE FRIENDS
TRAIN 186, AUGUST 29
SWIMMING HOLE
THE TAO OF BUTTERFLIES
THE POLITICS OF DESIRE
FAREWELL CODY BOY
CRUEL WORDS

all poems listed above (c) 2006 Brad Riesau

APPETIZER

2012-01-27T23:47:00.000-08:00

Half way through the appetizer
I was treated to dessert--
The swift realization
In a short few minutes time
That all was as I had expected
That time has not proven the wiser
That what was real then
Exists as firmly now
As the notion of sun, stars, moon and sky--
That the memory of what was right before
Remains as certain now
And again
Our timing out of sync
But what a joy the ease of falling back
Into each other's orbits has been.
Instant buzzing goodness.
Delicious connection.
Mmmmm, another helping,
please.

~ for SV, BBC, 12/4/06

First published in my blog on MySpace.com/v32unes

GRAPHIC ART

2012-01-27T23:43:00.000-08:00

Where did she come from?
Out of some ether
Some chemical solution
From a stone ground image
A tanned, golden-hooped memory,
From a past brimmed with conflicting emotion
Lost chances
Grabbed and misguided solutions.
Years gone by
Loves, life and time showing its hand.

We met, back then,
at her instigation
In spite of my usual hesitation
And we laughed and talked and held on tightly
If for such a delectable though fleeting moment
and she ran her hand thru my hair
She told me that I was passion incarnate
Not using that last word specifically
But in my nostalgia thru the years
It has had a nice ring to it.

The important fact is that the word that proceeded it
Was all hers as it rang in my ears for over a quarter of a century.

Are we that much closer to death?
Indeed, and she has never looked better
All mom's good genes
In those denims of her own
Strutting confidence and vulnerability
The latter just hinted at, perhaps for fun
She seems imbued with so much of the former.

Secure in her beauty
Her world
Her laughter ringing out over plates
Of spicy Thai fare
Her eyes dimming the beauty of the usual phalanx
Of Asian lookers
And her mane, a luxurious net casting about
Pulling in glances of our persistent busboys
Every one sneaking frequent peeks
Ready to please
And me?
I have her attention for this glorious moment
This dear friend
Long lost but never far from my memory
My short, sweet litany of those who mattered
Who somehow found it in their grace and power
To love me.
Faulty, fallible, fumbling, foolish me.
And like a handful of others
Her mirrored glances,
Caring touches
Soft kisses
Perfect words
Filled me with a glimmer of reflection
Of someone I could strive to be
Someone
Worthy of their affections.

Feels good.
Finally. At home in my own skin.

~ for SV, Big Bear City, 12/4/06
First published in my blog on MySpace.com/v32unes

TIMES TWO

2012-01-27T23:38:00.000-08:00

Sun shines
Tall shadows fall
Shade burning eyes.

Elemental
Raindrops tattoo
Streetside tables.

There is never a time
When life is not this moment.

If not now, when?

~ for Sun & Ella, Haru, Philadelphia, Pa 9/28/06

First published in my blog on MySpace.com on 10/3/06.

COMPASS POINTS

2012-01-27T23:29:00.000-08:00

NORTH

Magnetic pull
Strong and silent
Comfort in the solace
Of changing seasons.
Ritual
Routine
Stalwart stoicism
Dimpled smile
In the face of daily rigor
Plowing ahead
No instruction
No procrastination
Action
Simplicity
Focus.

SOUTH
Saucy
Sultry moist heat
Pretending to embrace fully
Something guessed at
Yearned for
Glimpsed
Surface grin
Inner fear
Vibrant attachment
To flux
Boundaries fixed
Finagled
Reconfigured
To suit the moment's
Rationale
Exuberant nosedive
Bungee'd back to earth
Loose
Tension.
Dream
Nightmare
Passing eye's blink
Smile's coaxing turn.

EAST
Balanced
Tactile
In her moment
Reaching out
To bring together
Connect
The open space
Between us all
By being herself
Working at it
Living it
Courting it
Seducing self
For others
Now from then
Feeling her power
Deeply
Stirringly
Endearingly
Valiantly.

WEST
A magnificent wreck
of strength
Fortitude
Will
Focus
Motion.
She is not the moon
But the weight of its pull
On the tides.
Mysteriously
Forthright
Deliciously confused
And loving it.
Like me
A conundrum.
Answers not always
Self-applicable
But always
Searching
Seeking
Answers.

~ written 10/3/06 and published the same day in my blog on MySpace.com/v32unes. Written for four important women in my life through the years.

ESSENCE

2012-01-27T23:19:00.000-08:00

Look at the sky.
The clouds are our actions, our thoughts
Sometimes white filled with sunlight,
sometimes black and ominous, holding rain
But they are momentary
Fleeting.
The sky always is.
The sky is our being, our essence.
Look through the clouds
See the sky.

~ September 17, 2006. After having attended Connie Irving's memorial service and having an emotionally transcendent moment, I went to lunch with friends and talked about how she touched us all. When I went outside I stopped dead in my tracks and looked at the sky and went home and immediately wrote down the poem above. I sat in my living room and randomly opened a brand new book on Buddhism by Osho and found three sentences that paraphrased almost verbatim what I proffered in the lines above. A day of epiphany. This poem first published 9/17/06 in my blog on MySpace.com/v32unes

POEM FOR THREE FRIENDS

2012-01-27T23:12:00.000-08:00

REASONS

I'm going to the funeral of a woman that I barely knew
Because I believe she was kind to people.
I believe she was a generous spirit
And a giving soul.
So many people I know say the same.

I go because of her smile and laughter
Brightened my day whenever we met
Because her husband, quick with a pun,
Long on fun and good vibes
Always made me feel comfortable
Whenever I was in his sphere.
I believe that part of what makes us human
Able to live with the vicissitudes of this finite life
Is the sharing of our grief
The absorption of each other's pain
To help us all lessen the hurt.
A gift of compassion.

I go to her funeral to say goodbye
To praise her life
Send her on her peaceful journey.
Later I will sing songs of joy and sadness
Meditate on transcendence
And living a life of purpose
In the face of the impermanence of time
In the face of all that makes this path
An uphill climb.

I go to her funeral
To share and accept the pain of those I love
Those who loved and will miss her dearly
My good friends, acquaintances,
Familiar faces, estranged lovers,
All of who traveled our wide circle.

I go to hold you all close
To reach out and into our aching hearts
Our need to know things we will never know
Our need to feel connected
To something larger than ourselves.

And I go for you
To bear witness to an important transition
In your life
Not just for the departed,
Her dear husband, children, friends and family
But for you,
The woman I have loved so dearly
Who shared dreams and brief moments
Filled with so much hope
And though we are at a point
In our long friendship
Where patience, understanding,
And closeness are at their most precarious
I feel your pain at this magnanimous loss
That is so close to your heart
This person we say farewell to today
That has been such a force in your life.

And though I had known them
Only peripherally
For years
Dancing around bars, bandstands, and living rooms
What I loved so much was seeing you through their loving eyes.
I admired your dedication to each other
And it helped me to know you better
To love you all more.
What I remember most about her is that
You seemed to always be reintroducing us,
Again and again, to our amusement.
"Do you know Connie?" you'd say,
And we'd laugh
As one of us would always hug the other
And say, "Of course,"
"Absolutely."
We'd smile, feeling a part of your world
A beautiful, warm circle of friends.

I loved that I always knew that no matter
What happened between you and I
That you would always have friends like them
To see you through the hard times
To be there when you needed them most.
I love them for helping me know your heart better
And you for allowing me the joy and pleasure
Of their smiling, joyous company.

~ for Leslie, Connie and Gary, 9/16/06

First published on my MySpace.com blog

TRAIN 186, AUGUST 29

2012-01-27T23:07:00.000-08:00

Listen...
young lovers coo
arms
lips
hearts
wrapped around each other.
Whispered breath
giggling glances
as the world
around them
falls away
one
soft
kiss
at a time.

~ written 8/29/06. First published in my myspace.com/v32unes blog, 8/31/06 with the following note: "I was sitting behind two young lovers on the train and they made out all the way to NYC from Philly, undisturbed by life swirling around them. The thrill of new love. Hard to beat. I scribbled this down and handed it to them as I walked off the train."

SWIMMING HOLE

2012-01-27T23:00:00.000-08:00

That's me

the swimming hole.
Back-stroke
Side-stroke
Breast-stroke
Sun-stroke
Heart attack
Deep dish
Loose lipped
Guest passed
Smart-assed
Fool by the pool.

Capsized
Sinking slowly down
drained.

~ August 8, 2006 - Arden, DE

THE TAO OF BUTTERFLIES

2012-01-27T22:44:00.000-08:00

Why mourn the cocoon
After the butterfly has flown
-- anonymous

....

You are my friend
Confidant
My ballast
My great, lost love

And
Because of the weight
Of those commitments
We are destined
to disappoint
Each other on occasion.

Our love
the cocoon
From which two
delicate
beauties spring to life.

-- for LC. 8/8/06

THE POLITICS OF DESIRE

2012-01-27T22:41:00.000-08:00

Trust your heart

I've heard it said
but what if then
your hearts gone dead
though still it beats
blood runs red
for trusting hearts
have long been bled.

Ravaged time
Crawls up your sleeve
So you toss
dream to its knees
And wake
Look quickly
Where am I?
round dusky bedroom
shadows lie
For a moment split
PLOP -- head first
toward pillowed warmth
flip it, thirst
for cooler side

fall back
upstream
where dreams collide.

~ poem just before sleep. Spontaneous scribbling first posted on MySpace.com/v32unes blog on August 16, 2006. Love that cold pillow.

FAREWELL CODY BOY

2012-01-27T22:34:00.000-08:00

Scientists say
you are no longer worthy
little Pluto.
Relegated
to the back yard
new company
stealing your glory
chewing your monkey
peeping out the window
solar system guard dog.

Cody too, now gone
13 years on
death sentence writ in shaky hand
old age the exterminator
lonliness
Stella-less
the final straw.

Gone where good dogs go
endless biscuits
endless bunny chase
endless walks
endless rides
endless treats.
no annoying
scary
squeaky floors
tables just tall enough
to not crack your skull
when you leap at doorbell
call.
no howling
fearful puppy maniac cry
caged
new world's dark unexplainability.
no yarddog perimeter
stroll
no tug-o'-war
protection tactic
no
no
no
no Cody boy.

Gone running
to his Stella
by starlight
big smile
shedding
white clouds
across the sky.

Our kids
gone before us
finality
of our lives together
underlined
bringing
us
again
family
if only for these precious
final
moments.

Breathe deep
late night
running buddy.
Running
right behind us
never alone
always
not wanting to miss a thing
excited
excitable boy.

And Pluto
no longer a planet
but always
one
lovable
dog
smiling
running
ecstatic
living large
for his moment.

Full tilt bozo.

~ written most likely August 25, 2006 in Wilmington, DE. Obit for my dog, Cody.

CRUEL WORDS

2012-01-27T22:30:00.000-08:00

All new to me

This feeling of solitude
even when surrounded
by friends
family
ghosts
memory
new experience
new life force
filling nooks
crannies of my days.

Still
the hollow
center of my heart
knows not where to turn
solace
slow in coming
peace
distant
though tangible
hope
the tiniest glimmer
but finally
back in the picture.

And how
do I find myself
doing
what I have spent a lifetime
avoiding doing,
acting
out
some
spontaneous
purging
of hurt
anger
need
fear
towards the one
who may
or may not
deserve it most
need it less
expect it
from me
not at all,
the person
I most
don't want to hurt.

Firing back
sharp shards
shrapnel
torn
from the shattered glass
of a heart
I no longer can feel
beating.
Forced from my gullet
by another
in a long line
of misunderstandings
misdiagnosed
misaligned
dramas
the product
of love
gone
bad,
trust
shot
to shit,
love
unaccepted
and squandered,
pain
unresolved.

I have no idea
who this man is
who cannot
be
perfect
who cannot
be
all
she once believed
me to be.

I wake to his shadow
hanging on the wall
above me.
I shut him
into the dark room
and I wait
for him to crawl out
from under
the door
my rusty scepter
of self-respect
and remorse
in my grip
hoping
I am strong enough
to beat him
back
into the dark.

~ written around late August 2006, Delaware. Most likely on 8/26/06 when it was first published in my myspace.com/v32unes blog. Dark, introspective days.

INCAPACITATED

2011-10-02T02:05:00.000-07:00

word |wərd|
noun
a single distinct meaningful element of speech or writing, used with others (or sometimes alone) to form a sentence and typically shown with a space on either side when written or printed.

One
Choice
Word
From the right person
A bullet from a gun
Stripping all sense of rationality
Motivation
Confidence
From whatever place of strength
You may have kept them fresh and handy
Polished, practiced and preened
Tossing them onto the slag heap
Of rusty useless, discarded tools.
Melted down to the basic core
Insecurity
Doubt
Fear.

Word, sentence, paragraphs, diatribes, rants,
Arguments, encyclopedic extrapolation,
Lectures, advice, tirades, opinion, suggestion,
Observation, invective, verbosity, attacks,
Discourse, conversation, judgment, perspective,
View, critique, review, denunciation, reproach,
Castigation, gossip, praise, vituperation, guidance,
Recommendation, notice
The unmarriable
Abyss
Between
Now and never
Then and when.

Paper cuts
From scarlet lips
The chill slap of reality's nonchalance
Blood letting
The slow death of disappointment
Deep holes
Dug
Deeper
One word
At a time.

Disappearing
Makes the most sense
Embracing the nothingness
Has never been easier
"Clouds are illusion
The sky is your essence"
BULLSHIT!
This rain is wet
And cold
The roof leaks
Onto the page
Shorting out
Any charge
That kept power
Flowing
Zap
Sizzle
Of
Shattered
Mirrors
Lightning
Struck.

The cycle spins
Big efforts
Scraped from the charred remains
Of an ancient sensibility
Pulled squirming by its short-hairs
From what is left of one’s self-respect.
Just another day at the salt mines.

~ May 11, 2011 Wilmington, DE

SOMETHING TINY

2011-08-01T02:45:00.000-07:00

There is a tiny creature
I carry with me
Always
Just beneath my skin.

She moves through me
Of her own volition
Sometimes poised just below my eyebrow
Creating foggy moist heat
Blurring my vision
Pulling my line of sight
Away from whatever
Captured
My attention.

Occasionally, she burrows
Beneath my skin
On the back of my hand
Guiding my touch
Over softer moments
Or forcing action
From my palm
The slapping sound
Waking waves
Of warm ecstatic
Contact.

Knowing
What works.
Giving in
To the near
Stopping
Of time.

Then there are moments
When her magnificent weightlessness
All 97 pounds of her
Pulsates
Beneath my chest
And I want someone to reach
Deep inside of me
Pull her out
For all to see
As I carry her
Over my broad shoulder
To a safer place
Where tears
Embolden
Her freedom
And nourish
My racing spirit
As I kiss them
From her eyes.

~ for Tiny J, dark Tinkerbell ever flitting around my heart.
August 1, 2011, Big Bear City, C

FLIPPING THE HOURGLASS

2011-08-01T02:27:00.000-07:00

Once I wrote,

‘Soul mates are a dime a dozen’

She thought I was being cute.

Now, I wait with 47 cents

On the table in front of me

Alone

The phone

Staring a hole in my discontent.

Three hundred pages

Of correspondence later

Pointed texts, endless letters,

Ribald transcriptions of phone sex

Chats

Exposure

Healing

Laughter

Angst

Learning

Shared perspective

Mystic longing

Gathering dust motes

Embellishing

The memory of

Yearning

With unneeded questions

The currency of unrequited

Co-existence.

Someday

Our story will be told

For now

I cling to it

With the fingers

Of a madman

Clawing at it’s radiant

Fuzziness

Desperate

For the sand

To not slip my grasp.

~ for Cami, August 1, 2011 - Big Bear City, 2 a.m.

EPICENE SCENE

2011-05-12T11:24:00.000-07:00

Quite taken by women who go by guys names
Not a conscious decision but a trend I can claim
Feminine handles are lovely and fine
Fall for the Susies, and some Carolines
The Mollys, and Marys, and Guens I adore
of course, there's Michelle, and Danielle and lots more,
The Lisas, the Lizzys, the Lizas and Vals
and the Cindys, the Barbs, I like all of those gals
There's Sallys, the Charlenes, the Colleens and Beths,
The Jens and the Annies and all of the rest
But there’s something intriguing
Bout the Martis and Sams
The Rickies, the Bobbis, the Kellys, hot damn
A Casey, A Tracy, A Stacy or two
There’s Teri and Jeri and Jamie and Drew
A Leslie, a Billie, a Robyn and Jo
Carrie, and Taylor and Pat, don't ya know.
An Alex, a Jordan, a Toni and Kris
A Dusty, a Niki and one named Frances
There's Lynn and there's Sandy and when Sunny gets blue
There's Ashley and Ali and maybe you too.
And even though spellings aren’t always the same
I’m somewhat intrigued by an epicene name.

INCAPACITATED

2011-05-11T10:09:00.000-07:00

word |wərd|
noun
a single distinct meaningful element of speech or writing, used with others (or sometimes alone) to form a sentence and typically shown with a space on either side when written or printed.

One
Choice
Word
From the right person
A bullet from a gun
Stripping all sense of rationality
Motivation
Confidence
From whatever place of strength
You may have kept them fresh and handy
Polished, practiced and preened
Tossing them onto the slag heap
Of rusty useless, disgarded tools.
Melted down to the basic core
Insecurity
Doubt
Fear.

Word, sentence, paragraphs, diatribes, rants,
arguments, encyclopaedic extrapolation,
lectures, advice, tirades, opinion, suggestion,
observation, invective, verbosity, attacks,
discourse, conversation, judgement, perspective,
view, critique, review, denunciation, reproach,
castigation, gossip, praise, vituperation, guidance,
recommendation, notice
the unmarriable
abyss
between
now and never
then and when.

paper cuts
from scarlet lips
the chill slap of reality's nonchalance
blood letting
the slow death of disappointment
deep holes
dug
deeper
one word
at a time.

The cycle spins
Big efforts
Scraped from the charred remains
Of an ancient sensibility
Pulled squirming by its short-hairs
From what is left of one’s self-respect.
Just another day at the salt mines.

~ May 11, 2011 Wilmington, DE

THE GHOST OF US (REVISITED)

2011-01-08T04:25:00.001-08:00

The Ghost of us it haunts me still
When we’re together or apart
It shadows me against my will
The Ghost of us lives in my heart

No matter what I try to do
It rattles chains that sound your name
I wake and think of only you
The Ghost of us inside my brain

It pulls away and then returns
It tears apart then gathers trust
It grants a kiss for three it’s spurned
It tempts with bliss, this Ghost of us.

And no matter how I might
Try to forget, distract my mind
It keeps me up all through the night
This Ghost I cannot leave behind

No matter how you treated me
And found another in my stead
I close my eyes and all I see
This Ghost of us inside my head

It laughs and loves and teaches things
It compliments and raises toasts
It’s flowers, food, and sex and wings
It is a most seductive ghost

A rose, a song, some poetry
A glance, some secret confidence
A smile, a touch, a hand on knee
This Ghost of us is all we miss

The Ghost of us it haunts me still
When we’re together or apart
It shadows me against my will
The Ghost of us who owns my heart

Though I forgive I can’t forget
and every time the Ghost arrives
I pray that peace will find me yet
But until then the Ghost survives

So still this Ghost it preys on me
Whenever its foul games commence
It nibbles at my flesh in need
And never will be recompensed.

- David Crosby once wrote a song called, "Song No Words (Tree With No Leaves)" and while that song is more beautiful and hopeful and sounds like a summer drive near Muir Woods, the title suddenly seems naked and exposed and sad, like I felt when I wrote this. Most of the above is from 2007, the last few stanzas revitalized after a particularly stale bit of retrospection in early 2011. This one is for the Boris in all of us.

A CREATURE OF GRAB IT

2010-10-31T11:43:00.000-07:00

A creature of grab it, every moment a gem
Perhaps not productive, it’s just me and them
Cloud covered mountain declares morning a truce
Leaving me off the hook on a day with no juice
So I sleep for 12 hours or perhaps it was ten
Skip today’s shower for there’s books to begin
And books to be finished, a few letters to friends
Some chores to back burner and some word games to spin
Some lists to ignore of the past week’s to-do’s
Some friends will be calling with laughs and boo hoos
I’ve got faucets to fix and roofers to call
And squirrels to hate as they chew up my wall
Lovers to ponder and chat up and text
And gigs I must plan for, learn a song by T. Rex
There’s that poem I started and there’s lyrics to print
I’ll start walking this morning cause I know I won’t sprint
And if only I’ll get all these thoughts from my head
I could shut off the sunrise and fall asleep in my bed.

~ a scribble I scrawled while lying in bed in the mountains this summer. Took me awhile to post it...hahaha. Sometimes living for now can be giving yourself some time to relax.

DAWN

2010-04-08T12:17:00.000-07:00

Standing alone
In my window
The night’s cool condensation
Blurring half my view
My nakedness
In the purple pre-dawn
Reflected in the glass
As my skin
Takes on the morning’s
Tumescent glow
My hand slides
Across and down my belly
Reflecting my pleasure
And my thoughts
Of the next time
I look down upon your waiting form
Warmed like the morning sky
Awaiting
The excitement
Of the day’s unknown
Embrace.

And of them all
You are the person
I am most compelled to wrap my arms around
The exhibiting of love
Enough for you
The action
The act
Knowing that you fill my heart is enough
Though I may yearn for some acknowledgment
That will never come
Some declaration
Some ego stroke not truly needed
Instead luxuriating to see a glimmer
In your eyes
On our faces
Every time our eyes meet
And in the caring and daily compassion
Openness and honesty
We share.
Nonetheless
The showman in me
Dreams of shouting lusty howls
From rooftops…
For now
Let me whisper your name.

- Big Bear City, March 2010 at dawn, for Molly, my beloved EXP and Best Roomie Ever.
I wrote this as I went to bed as dawn broke over the mountain in front of my house. I forgot about it and three weeks later found it on a legal pad under my bed as I cleaned up to head East.

MORE EARLY PUBLISHED POEMS

2010-03-23T04:25:00.000-07:00

SPIGOT (early version)

I.

stranger
nemesis to himself
foisting drill-press limitation
hard-edged
guilt by disassociation
fire line discombobulation
on one's own psyche.

not particularly healthy
non-controllable, weird osmotic
chemical reaction to heart's conundrums
not conducive to positive growth potential.
fuck the diagnosis
race for the cure.

II.

deserted.
non-malicious bailing out
those who've had enough
or search a different window.

there has not been a day
without tears
(waterfall;
glacial trickle > ocean roar
record setting, soaking pearls
of rejected anger, mists of acceptance
beauty's reflected appreciation
longing's widening, leaking fissure)
raining for 49 humid days
dark, ebony nights .
after 15 years of drought,
thirsting for tear's acknowledgment
of some dab of emotion left floating inside,
the partched earth
rock solid
impenetrable
like my stupidity
my rigorous, inflexible blinders
the spidery flawed face of the self-loathing mirror
turned shamefully to the wall.
Barely a smidgen of moisture crept through.
But what did seeped into the cracked weaknesses
of my hardened self-hatred
created rivulets of hope
positive flow

(beneath the surface
waterways tinged of reminiscence
just navigable
in the eerie inner darkness
the memory of passionate language of thought
floating
downstream
toward that light)

III.

my face
flushes briefly with the warmth...
stopping breath
time
memory
flow
only to slip further away
always, unexplainably out of her grasp
always mysteriously in reach
waiting
always for that warm glimmer
upon my saddened brow.

always
the light
she silently calls out
whispering my given name
singing the word "beautiful"
softly on my every breath.

always
a darker reality
than the soul can bear.

IV.

time cradles light like a fragile child
sneering menacingly at the baby's face
calling it's hand.
full of love, sustenance and compassion
the light's radiant smile
briefly tickles time's chin
only to dim
in it's powerful stare.

-- 6/23/96 as it appeared in print. This version appeared in the poetry zine
A Hindu, A Buddhist & A Lion Tamer, #2, Folcroft, PA. 1996
Credited to “Victor Bradley”. A later edited version appeared in GLIMMERING RAY DUET collection (see blog posted here on June 30, 2008)

MY EARLIEST PUBLISHED POETRY: from ESSENCE OF DRAGON WINGS

2010-03-23T03:58:00.000-07:00

In August of 1978, I had three poems published in a poetry zine put out by a handful of SDSU poetry department students and teachers. My friend Mary Jacob was involved and Stan Sewitch another friend of Mary and mine did some illustrations if I recollect. The following three poems show my earliest stabs at thinking I could try this. I'd had a great poetry course recently with the marvelous central California poet, Gary Soto. It would be years before I found what he called "my emerging voice" but his encouragement as well as that of Carolyn Forche who was also teaching at State helped me at least be comfortable enough to show them around a bit.

What I like about them now, even in their struggle to be "poetic", I was able to grb three distinct moments from my life and write about them with separate structural ideas while still trying to reflect the way I heard myself speaking. Baby steps.

THEY LOOK LIKE TWINS IN THE DARK

Lit by burning wax thru ferns and plate glass
Skin against warm skin
Lava on rock
Hips moving against each other.
The record sings, "Open your eyes, you can fly!"

They listen with armies of moths
Fluttering under their skin.
The dreams, like flames thru dry ice,
Surround them in candlelight about the walls.

Someone watches from the window
As the moon slips behind a cloud.

-- for Dusty, Ocean Beach, February, 1977
first published in Essence Of Dragon's Wings, Vol. 2, No. 1, 1978

THE WORM

There's a religious fanatic
On Channel 10
And three drunks doing somersaults
In the living room;
One without his upper plate
And the other two munching down
Week-old chow mein.

And I'm in here
Halfway between drunken despair
And Forks, Washington.
Lying in bed
I try to find a comfortable spot
To leave both my feelings and my hangover.
No lightning between my toes.
No passionate clinches in dark hallways.
No laughter from behind the bathroom door.

Damned exotic fruit drinks:
Every time somebody turns on the blender the TV zaps out.
I never remember drinking the worm
But it always crawls up my throat
In the middle of breakfast.

-- Ocean Beach, December 1976
first published in Essence Of Dragon's Wings, Vol. 2, No. 1, 1978

UNHEALTHY

A year ago today
you told me to get my
tooth fixed
one day later
we had lunch
in front of a swing band
I haven't seen you since.

-- for Papa, San Diego, November 1977
first published in Essence Of Dragon's Wings, Vol. 2, No. 1, 1978

TRIO THREE

2010-03-10T02:11:00.000-08:00

Not nearly straight and nothing but chaser
Illustrious riff rears its Promethean head
For one brief measure
Every 20^th or so
Just a clue
Like a fleck of orange in a room-wide
Pollack
diatribe.

~ spontaneous composition penned during the opening tune of the first set of
TRIO THREE (Oliver Lake / Reggie Workman / Andrew Cyrille ) at the Philadelphia Art Museum.

ON THIRTY

2010-03-10T02:00:00.000-08:00

At eight years past
Or perhaps six
You were pulled
Arguing, across my path
by a girl with eyes wide set as mine.
You wore the faddish
stupid pants of the day.
Eventually
I rolled up my sleeves
And threw my forearms
Around your raving countenance.
You paced
Still do
Frenetic
Anxious
Sponge on wheels
Suck it up
All glorious life
All yammering living.

Tonight
Your 29 years
Still tumescent
Roll away behind you.

I ride facing backwards on a train
From jazz central
Back into the womb
Of your caring family
And eloquent friends
Together
Celebrating your breath
Laughter
Your flow
Magical exuberance of sexy intellect
Childish insecurity
And macho vitality.

We love every bit
Toast your life
Hold you close
Want forever
Your respect
Promise our love
Declare our loyalties.

Your world
Always ours
Our joy at your presence
Tasting
Of deep red wine
on our tongues.

~ for NG, 4/25/08

AFTER SEVEN DAYS OF ORBITING YOU

2010-01-18T03:09:00.000-08:00

i.

You and your fragile, broken heart
Call me
A beacon in my endless night.
One fleeting glance
Caught me unaware
Cemented my devotion
Catalyst for my silly yearning
Heartfelt seriousness
Immense care.

The endless boots
Compelling stockings
Classy style and stylish cap
Launch a million dreams
That no small feat of mesmerizing foolishness
Can fulfill.
To find me in your sphere
An odd
Complex
And silly joke
I would not trade for all the green tea in China.
That you would ever find something in me
Worthy of your delicious
Germanic upper lip,
Cascading hair
Luminous in the light of another barroom
The easy grace and subtle humor of your hips
Your waist
Your gentle hands on my arm
And
Again those eyes
Which disarm me of any "game"
Every time they smile into mine
-- a mystery no soothsayer
Can decipher.
Just blessed
I guess
I
am
Indeed.

ii.

One
Fleeting
Glance
As I locked into those eyes
As you walked purposefully
Down
The aisle towards your seat --
End of intermission
Start of a new chapter.

It had been decades
Since a lightning bolt
Caught me
Dead center.
Eons since this age old
Heart of mine
Screamed so loudly out at me,
“Pay attention YOU!!!
Do not take one more step
Without really seeing
The blessing before you.”

How can I be so bold as to want so much so quickly
To presume so much connection
From such a fragile heart
When my own has been so empty for so long?
Just when I thought life was just a trick of the light
Done with mirrors
Fun house deception
Gone batty
In the dead of night,
Just when I thought I'd filled the hole
With myriad sweet sensations
Songs of bliss
Keys of life
Women of loving tenderness
And fiery surprise...

...here you are
Showing me signs of redemption
When all you see from your end is pain.
If you only knew what you have given me
That your breath be mine
my nightly wish
That our eyes stay focused
Every minute, my prayer...
That I am not a fool
And don’t presume your resonant youth
Divine presence
And ravenous beauty could be anything
I’d be worthy of.
But, a man can dream,
My how this man can do nothing but.

iii.

So I keep my distance
Respecting your pain
While wanting nothing but to cure you
Enticing your time away from all comers
Wanting only to enchant you
Wishing I could be just the very thing that you need
In just this one moment
And
Then
Again
In the next.

iv.

And what is
Is
And what will be
Will be.
I can do nothing more
Than wish I could break through
The armor
Of distraction
Of iPhones
Ex-lovers
And timelines
Preconceptions
Of cockblockers
And last calls
To just tell you
Thanks
For making
This one man
Feel
At least
While locked in your gaze
One
Glimmer more
Important
And sexy
And worthy
For at least this very
Short
And beautiful
Moment in time.

-- January 15, 2010 - spontaneous heart writing, 3:54am

OVER MY SHOULDER

2010-01-18T03:05:00.000-08:00

Over my shoulder
Is the man you long for
Over my shoulder
Is the one you love
Over my shoulder
Is the life of the party
Over my shoulder
When push comes to shove

Over my shoulder
Is one who ignores you
Over my shoulder
Is my longtime friend
Over my shoulder
Is someone you long for
Over my shoulder
Will it ever end?

Right here before me
I’m so quickly learning
Right here before me
That I can’t resist
Right her before me
I’m so deeply yearning
Right here before me
I so want to kiss

Right here before you
Is someone who sees you
Right here before you
As you really are
Right here before you
Is someone who needs you
Right here before you
like a shining star

But over my shoulder
Are your eyes still gazing
Over my shoulder
If you only knew
Over my shoulder
Now my eyes are glazing
This invisible man
Waiting just for you.

- for SNS, spontaneous song lyric, in bed at 4:12am on 1/15/10

CAMI'S TREE

2009-07-07T20:56:00.000-07:00

As a young girl in love
She’d walk through the woods to her tree.
It lay flat on the ground
Bark pulling away from the trunk
Rain and rootlessness
Changing it slowly to a charcoal gray.

She’d hike back to it
Looking up at the morning sky
Perhaps pining for some new boy
Or luxuriating in fresh moments of young love.
She’d dream of futures
Watching the clouds billow and flow
An armada of hopefulness
Sailing across the deep blue expanse above.

She’d feel her tree before she’d even see it
The racing of her pounding young heart
Giving its presence away
Once there she’d sit
Admiring her previous handiwork
A litany of dreams and plans
Realized and dashed possibilities
Represented by the names
Etched in to the wood in front of her.
She tells her youngest daughter
That someday
She will find a tree of her own.

Now, over thirty-five years on
She returns
A new name beating beneath her breast
A ripe and spinning unknown
Laying itself out before her
Surprising
Needed
Teetering on the brink of realization
And she dreams again
That once that name is carved into her log
This new start, this speeding heart
This electric fuzziness she can’t shake
Will manifest before her
A dream made real
A soul tied to her own.
The penknife shakes imperceptibly
With the anticipation of the first
Slow, loving cut.

~ for Cami, June 26, Arden

TRANSFORMER

2009-06-23T23:04:00.000-07:00

Lou Reed looks down, youthful freckled complexion
Beneath blond curls
From between the two beds
No sign of heroin chic
Just youth
Rock n roll unguarded between arrogance and grace
And while she freshened up after an evening out
Dining deliciously on erotically exotic drinks
Sexy fish and saucy sides
I pulled a floor to ceiling mirror
Away from the wall
Dragging it across the room
To snuggle it into the crack between the bed and the wall
Checking the angle for optimum exposure
Our sensual doppelgangers
To rise from the crisp white sheets
As if another couple
We seeing us just in reach
Our excitement daring them to reach out and grab a handful
Something illicitly taboo.

-- Hollywood, 3/31/08 – Roosevelt Hotel, Room 612 – for Sandy

RENTAL

2009-06-23T23:00:00.000-07:00

I saw another woman wearing your ass today.
Walking around town as if she owned the sweet thing
As if we wouldn’t know that it wasn’t just a rental;
Something she procured for a night on the town
Maybe wearing to an awards show
A graduation
A hot first date
Perhaps adding extra oomph
To an important job interview
But I know better
Magnificent behinds like that don’t grow on knees
I know by how my body reacts
How the precarious laptop shimmies
Like my hymn book rose and fell
back in Sunday School
where at 12, I first caught a glimpse
of AP’s cottoned crotch
and wouldn’t dare stand for half an hour
no matter how badly I felt I had to piss.

~ for Sandy, Feb 15, 2007

WHAT DO I SAY

2009-06-23T22:58:00.000-07:00

What do I say to someone like you?
I keep to the silly, the sexy, the blue
Everything’s easy, so real and so true
What do I say to someone like you?

How do I keep my emotions in check?
When your touch and your kisses just make me a wreck
All the laughter and glances flow, those legs and that neck
How do I keep my emotions in check?

Where did the years go, how’d they fly by?
You dropped into my lap like some dream from on high
With our past a small river that just never ran dry
Where did the years go, how’d they fly by?

What is this song that I find on my lips?
There’s your name and your heart and your love and your hips
So our melody swings and the harmony drips
What is this song that I find on my lips?

What do I see when I look in your eyes?
I see love, understanding and a stunning surprise
That we both share a passion that just soars as it flies
That’s what I see when I look in your eyes.

~ for Sandy, possible lyric to unwritten melody, Feb. 14, 2007

NEW VISION

2009-06-23T22:56:00.000-07:00

Shattered mirrors
Crackle underfoot
When I’m with you.
See me as a twenty-three-year-old
Brown-haired hippie
All lusty and new
Fresh dipped in the magic of lust,
Love and longing.

Your eyes
Green pools
Appreciative of the simple praise
Spewing from my goatee’d craw
Simple in its ease
Falling from my lips like soft, shooting stars
Blazing fuzzy across the heavens
And you
So caring
Smart and generous
Such loving intensity of spirit
Behind those eyes.

Luxuriating in this moment of you
Could I ever give you a glimmer
Of what you deserve.

~ for Sandy, February 10, 2007, Arcadia

GRAPHIC ART

2009-06-23T22:55:00.000-07:00

Where did she come from?
Out of some ether
Some chemical solution
From a stone ground image
A tanned, golden-hooped memory,
From a past brimmed with conflicting emotion
Lost chances
Grabbed and misguided solutions.
Years gone by
Loves, life and time showing its hand.

We met at her instigation
In spite of my usual hesitation
And we laughed and talked and held on tightly
If for such a delectable though fleeting moment
and she ran her hand thru my hair
And she told me that I was passion incarnate
Not using that last word specifically
But in my nostalgia thru the years
It has had a nice ring to it.

The important fact is that the word that proceeded it
Was all hers as it rang in my ears for over a quarter of a century.

Are we that much closer to death?
Indeed, and she has never looked better
All mom’s good genes
In those denims of her own
Strutting confidence and vulnerability
The latter just hinted at, perhaps for fun
She seems imbued with so much of the former.

Secure in her beauty
Her world
Her laughter ringing out over plates
Of spicy fusion fare
Her eyes dimming the beauty of the usual phalanx
Of Asian lookers
And her mane, a luxurious net casting about
Pulling in glances of our persistent busboys
Every one sneaking frequent peeks
Ready to please
And me?
I have her attention for this glorious moment
This dear friend
Long lost but never far from my memory
My short, sweet litany of those who mattered
Who somehow found it in their grace and power
To love me.
Faulty, fallible, fumbling, foolish me.
And like a handful of others
Her mirrored glances,
Caring touches
Soft kisses
Perfect words
Filled me with a glimmer of reflection
Of someone I could strive to be
Someone
Worthy of their affections.

Feels good.
Finally. At home in my own skin.

~ for SV, Big Bear City, 12/4/06

ALEXANDRIA

2009-06-23T22:47:00.000-07:00

I can still feel your hands on me
I can still feel your hands
I can still taste your mouth on mine
I can still taste your mouth
I can still smell your sex on me
I can still smell your sex

Your eyes as you sleep
Your eyes, your eyes
Your eyes as you sleep.

For JS – 06/21/09 – Arden, DE

FAITH IN THE ADORABLES

2009-06-23T22:33:00.000-07:00

What is this wealth of riches
Working hard not to sacrifice my deep respect
Striving, polishing my honesty and reflection
For those who give me their cherished moments
Their subdivided hearts willingly;
For those who share their stories
Aches and joyous epiphanies;
For those whose fingertips trace
Epic tales of romance across my furrowed countenance
Lost loves, souls torn with time’s scornful glance
Life’s diverted energies focused
If ever so briefly upon my grizzled grin,
Whose hands hold all of this very moment’s hopefulness
Whose lips whisper the only truths we are sure of
Whose arms comfort and envelop me
In their neediness as well as mine.
I praise the deep longing for what only we can give each other
Whatever is distinct from what the next will give,
The last withheld,
from the dream we all search for
of The One we may never find.

How I cherish their willingness to accept my fragility
My smokescreens, my flailing attempts at flinging myself head on
Into the path of the battering ram of self-reliance --
Oh, how they surround my aging gracelessness with the kindness
Of compassionate longing
And what they find there in the darkness is me.
Simple in the very complexity that I brandish
A credo of web-like stickiness
What is and what should always be
never quite making the grade
That they see in me what I do in them--
Humanity masquerading as something so much grander
Reaching for the ring and reaching yet again
And we hold each others care to our hearts
Defying definition by any previous standards
Because our friendships
Our devotions
Our lusting and loving
Can only be seen as the courting of the impossible
Of the toe-on-the-rail, abyss leaping swan dive
into The Perhaps.

Leap with me, wrap your wings around me
Adorables
Freefall together
Past jealousies, fear, doubt
As lovers, muses, friends,
Believing
In love’s mystery
The heart’s resilience
The soul’s compassionate grace
Believing
In the undiscovered moment.

- For The Adorables: JS, MM, RR, SV - the amazing women in my life...alphabetically, of course ;-)

WHY SO SHY BOY?

2008-11-06T00:32:00.000-08:00

You like the way things are going.
“The future is uncertain.”
You want to keep things the way they are
…for now.

Ah, the ever-indecipherable “Now”.
Puts a careful man on his heels
Tilting to one side
Bowing respectfully
Towards
Inaction.

Hmm, how I love the uncertainty
The never knowing.
Yes, it holds my interest
Tickles my funny bone
Perplexes my reason.
Disrupts my sleep.

I dreamt of you for the first time
We kissed long and softly
In my former kitchen
You teased me some
Kissed me again
And turned
Gracefully
Out the door
Making me
Want more.

I hear your need for unfolding
Not rushing
No rules
No expectations
No strings.

I’m not sure if you see that
That is exactly my proposal
Entwined with only the expectation of something new
Courting the exciting
Not waiting for it to fall into our proverbial laps
But opening our laps to it
One might say with a smile.

In the realm of the patient
Things make their own way
In spite of all the planning
The need to control the situation
Languid pace
Cool exterior
Burning
Yearning interior
All seems threatened by the unknown.

But the heart
Still craves
Surprise
New romance
Dark nights
Roses with thorns
Men
Brimming with poetry
Your name
On their lips.

And if my mien in life
Is to cling to respecting these new moments
My head in your sway
In lieu of dangerously
Burning time’s fragile edge
With
My anticipation
My antsy desire
To climb into your skin and know you
From within
Discover your boundaries
Feed your fires
Stir your pot
Dine
Dance
Decorate your delicate countenance
With the exuberance of experience
Yearning
And refreshed spirit
Lie warm in your youthful gaze
Explore
Explore
Places we have never been
Nooks and crannies
Of life’s perpetual change
Flowing through our souls
Our brief shared moments in time.

To miss this resonance
For lack of trying
Would be a horrid sin.
To hold these moments
Tight and cozy
Against our memory
A blessing,
Not fearful
Of whatever
Comes around the next bend.

Yet no gigolo, I.
It is not the climax that I crave
The view from the top not withstanding
Carnality's afterglow but a sweet by-product
Of a deeper attraction
A languorous understanding
An adventurous
Redistribution of affection’s
Soft hand
I seek the eye's confirmation
The touch of a fingertip's affirmation
The spark of a laugh's soft agreement.
I want my arm around the waist of your comfort
Hold your trust and friendship
Close to me like a sacred oath
A pledge of allegiance
To each moment's unique bliss
Nothing more
Such moments to become
What memory may allow.
Ah, the ultimate freedom
Of not falling for time’s
Playful tortures.

And me? Still I make no moves
No leaping stumbles toward your lips
No stubbled cheek upon your breast
No reaching for your long fingers.
Even spinning you close
Around our frequented dance floors…
Why so shy, boy?
When what I fear most is not rejection
Not inspection
Not reflection
What I fear are the words
From your delicate pink lips
Months, years from now
“If only you’d have made a move…
I was waiting for you to pull me towards your racing heart.”
And I say those same words
Each night
in the shadow
of our evenings
As I wait.
Patient
contemplating time's snicker.
I wait.
I wait.
For just a touch.
A kiss.
A sign.
Just a word
That now
Is the time.
A simple moment
Sublime.

~ for Janine, November 5, 2008 at 8:04pm

TO REFUSE THE MUSE IS MISUSE OF THE NEWS

2008-11-06T00:31:00.000-08:00

sometimes paper is so much easier than life
night safer than day
waiting easier
than stepping up.

If I were better in the morning
face to face
fearless
lurching
face first
into the fray
perhaps
words
could
rest
comfortably
rebooting their
resonance
but
that would not
be
muse worthy.

so
consequently
our hearts
rumble
paradiddles
and press rolls
until
attraction + obstacles
= excitement
as we import
desired characteristics
from those we yearn for
in others
while the atmosphere
of the moment
loses itself in the tailspin
of
fragile time
blown chances
passing trains.

Sitting down
heart
in hands
scribbling
commences
daring itself
to resist.

~ for Janine, written as a Facebook comment by Brad in response to Rhys’ McClure’s comment on the poem WHY SO SHY BOY? On November 6 at 2:32a

Thanks Rhys for the inspired reading of the previous scrawling. As one in the throes of courting a reluctant but appreciative muse, as when two people try and discuss the same book they are reading at very different paces, I fill in the blanks with what works for me. Solace in the pen, indeed

WOMEN BY THE WINDOW WAITING

2008-11-06T00:29:00.000-08:00

the pen is / mightier than / the bored / hello or

rushing conquest / notching a new name
on the list / I scored!
if only more men / knew that words
are so seductive, yes / and captivating
there would be fewer / women by the window waiting
- Rhys McClure

And then there is the dilemma of the men
walking below those filled windows
chasing
scraps of paper
shredded love letters
that spin in the draft
of their yearning
around some blind corner
where only dream shadows
await.

They look up into the rain
fingernail crescent
diving behind rooftop edge
windows empty
shades drawn
night
longer
than most.

~ for Rhys. Thanks for the light that sparked this poem.
Poetic 2nd Comment by Brad on Rhys’ Facebook comment on the poem
WHY SO SHY BOY? November 6, 2:42am

THE PRECIPICE OF THE MOMENT

2008-10-23T00:32:00.000-07:00

There is one
Floating thorough this cranial sea of bliss
There is one
Who has replaced them all
Replaced in questioning
Replaced in tap-foot awaiting phone’s jingle
Replaced in yearning and sea’s rising wave
Sunset shimmer of evening’s curtain
Replaced in pin-prick proddings of desire
Desire’s burning ember
Buried beneath fire’s end
Replaced by dancer’s shadow upon my closed fluttering eye
Flame’s reflection bare upon my skin
Replaced by knowing/unknowing/knowing
Un-
Knowing
Replacing all that is holy
With all that is unknowing
And content with that just now
Replacing lovers, memories,
Taste of other lips and touch of skin
Hair falling down onto my chest
The smell of her neck just below the ear
Replacing it all with the hope of the moment’s fragile grace
Replaced by this moment
This waiting
This moment
This being
This moment
This yearning
This moment
This discovery
This moment
Unknowing
This tightwire moment leaning
Over a precipice of its own design

Hurtling
Plummeting
Towards the abyss

Soaring
Soaring
Soaring

Towards uncertainty’s
Tempting grin --
“More”
“Different”
“New”
She mulls it over
A whisper over her shoulder
Not knowing quite what to make of me.
As if I had answers other then
“Yes”
and “Now”
and “Safe”
ans “Smile”

All are One
All are One
You
Me
Us
Them
All are One.

~ for Janine, October 22, 2008

WHAT'S UP WITH LIFE'S METRONOME?

2008-10-10T10:40:00.000-07:00

Tick tock
timing is everything
so we dwell upon the things
that aren't exactly as we wish
and we miss what is really there.

And I don't want to miss you
waltzing through my life's
contentment
writing you off
no
more like
writing me off
and leaving you up there
precariously
dangling
all false possibilility
above my graying cerebral cage
and I count days
and I count words
and I count
moments
tick
tock
never
enough.
slippery
devil
that time.

~ for Janine, October 9, 2008

BARKING UP TREES

2008-10-07T22:14:00.000-07:00

Each morning I crawl out from under the bed
Solitude hits me
as those dream people scurry back to safety
somewhere deep down into the sheltering blankets and sheets
tucked in tight
to hide all day long
and I step outside
sniff around daily
I bark up trees
beautiful blossoming trees
their branches and arms reach out to me
beckoning
as if they needed to hear my pleas
as much as their shade
their fruit
their sustaining filtering of the very air I breathe
keep me from harm.
And again with the squirrels
they scurry
like tiny annoying boyfriends
on to the next tree
no loyalty
no glance behind them
I run back and forth
putting the fear of dog into them
but they always return
taunting me
for I am an anachronism to them
long in the tooth
same old stories
same old songs
but the trees
every day
they see me coming
they reach out again to me
they comfort me
they show me the natural beauty of things
I protect them
make them feel special
but there is always that moment
that one small slip in time
when I wonder if today
I'm just barking up the wrong tree.

~ spontaneous poem written on Facebook contemplating the dating scene. 9/30/08

BE GHAT

2008-09-12T02:00:00.000-07:00

For what eager mind
To diminish night sky
Ego flight and fancy’s anointed charismatic decree?
Bone bag miscalculated sense of permanence
Adrift amongst life’s perpetual gloom?
No answers, no answers, no questions, no doom.
As peaceful self transcends action
Left stymied unresolved
Perched in some fomented hierarchy of lie dream
Waking slumber.

~ 5/24/08 3:33am Arden Garrett (my new name for my Arden apartment or perhaps a new pseudonym for the artist within). Spark: Spontaneous writing.
Also published in my blog – www.myspace.com/v32unes

FRAGILE ANSWER

2008-09-12T01:58:00.000-07:00

young velvet window
your open voice

she only remembers
the secret glass question
we celebrate, explore, embrace.

porcelain sister
our slow rhythm
haunts the night long.

soft prisoner
this present peace.

~ magnetic poetry (myspace app), 9/10/08

BEGIN BEING

2008-09-12T01:56:00.001-07:00

live
listen
grow with love
feel life’s flow

bless the weight of profound surrender
encourage compassion
balance
gratitude and
transform energy into serenity
challenge
inspire and dream

from fragile birth
sustain chaos
bear suffering
soothe
comfort
endure

when weary
laugh
let your mind rest
in this present light

nourish spirit
through touch
create self-awareness
as you recycle
trust
courage
joy

play hard
give out hope free
a happy heart heals

value change
wisdom
gentle grace
beauty
truth

ask
care
believe
though question understanding
pamper doubt

be still
accept the journey
meditate
breathe

wish peace for every soul

~ written in Arden garrett, with refrigerator magnets, 9/8/08
for Val Cherrin & Molly Mackey
also published in my blog at www.myspace.com/v32unes

CAUGHT STARING

2008-08-11T21:56:00.000-07:00

He’s caught himself staring again.
There is a radiant beauty about her
He has never before known.
Innocence and worldliness
At once and all encompassing;
The youthful exuberance
Seasoned by the timeless
Precipice of the unknown.

Her eyes, direct beacons
Shining her essence outward;
A lighthouse rescuing those in her light
From any slight doubt
That God or whatever
Magnificent generosity of creation
Is an art lover
A connoisseur of all that reflects
Life’s timeless beauty:
The glorious wonder of human kind
In the glow of her skin
In the joy of her giggle
The graceful lines of her body.

And I whisper thanks to the creator
For allowing me the guilty pleasure
Of her luxurious company.

That I yearn to feel her skin
Under my fingertips
Her silken hair against my chest
Will forever haunt my dreams.
In hers, she rides a giant horse
So big she can reach up into the trees
But she controls him
And as she tells me this dream
I tease her that I am that horse
And she can control me anytime.
She laughs
Slaps and pinches my arm
“You’re crazy.”
Crazy about you
My beautiful muse.
If I can ever touch
Your soft, delicate
Pink as spring cherry blossom
Lips to mine
I could die a fulfilled and happy man
The essence of passion
sprung to life in the touch.

~ FOR LS, May 24, 2008

NO MATTER

2008-08-11T21:55:00.000-07:00

No matter
How often you find your way into my dreams
Or sail into my thoughts on a breeze of light
Randomly
Bring a grin from under my beard

No matter
How often I see your “xoxo”
In my inbox
Or recall your wondrous laugh
That fills my heart

No matter
How long I’m away
A week, a month, or longer still
I am always taken aback
Surprised
Unprepared
For how I, again
Cannot help but fall
Head over heels
The moment
I see you again.

~ for LS, 8/11/08

ODD MAN IN/OUT

2008-07-13T14:46:00.000-07:00

i.
The gentlest of souls
Simple yet complex
Spontaneous choices
Based on practiced self-trust —
To want someone else’s happiness
More than your own
Is dangerous stuff
A slippery trail
To an illusively rewarding summit.
Finally reaching the peak
the view from the top
Can be cloud covered
Socked in
So one must contemplate...
Turn back
Descend...
Sit still
And wait...
In the best
of all worlds
What will be seen,
Invigorating
And disconcerting
Mesmerizing
And polarizing,
May at minimum
Remind us of only
What we have given up
On the climb.
The passing time
Those left behind
The pain in your legs
Spine
Feet
Soul
Reminders of what remains:
The sky
Behind the clouds.

ii.
And sometimes
I want to cry at the sight
Of her
But my smile
Squenches my eyes up
Too tightly to let the tears flow.
Just me.
That infamous
“walking contradiction
partly fact
partly fiction.”
Being me.
Basket case happy
Backpack full of sad.

She reflects me.
We reflect each other
Quick to process
Slow to act
Full of ideas
Shy on follow up.
We settle
And we plan
And we move towards
The next thing
That fills the unfillable.

Seductive mirror
Shining each other’s image
Too often
Neglecting our own.
We know life is simpler than we make it
More complex than we wish it.
And in her arms
I feel my own heart beating.

iii.
Watching your affection for each other
Revealing itself
Explored
Expressed
In little hugs
Elbow kisses
Magnetic touches
Your happiness
Sweetness
Dare I say romantic side?
Turning me on
As always
That I so desire to sidle up to
The both of you
Our legs crossed over yours
A simple hand on your hip.
You
Surrounded by hope
Nothing overt
Just contact
Touching unspoken love
Showing you both
How being a special part of your lives
Makes some kind of sacred sense
So deeply felt
Though present moment’s tenuous confusion
Finds so little
Space
For those feelings
To land.
Odd man out.

iv.
With you in my bed
Radiant face smiling up at me
In candlelight glow
Glad to be back under the weight of me
Glad to be back clutching the breath of you
I am welcomed home
Into the longed for arms
The soul of a fragile woman
Stronger than the elements
Brighter than the sun
Moth man, me
Drawn to a flame
Flickering
For someone else.
I dig your heat
Angel.
From wherever
I am.
Odd man in.

~For Molly 7/10-13/08, BIG BEAR CITY

HER CURVY WICK BURNS END TO END

2008-07-13T14:31:00.000-07:00

Her curvy wick burns end to end
like life's big questions unanswered
over
and over
again.

Cycles spin
hearts align and mis-align
seek some level of comfort
in the blood flood
towards extinction.

And our cells replicate, die out, replicate
like our loves
like our doubts
like our victories and defeats
all in the service of some resilient
resistance to acceptance
-- distraction
the devil's stepchild.

~for Molly. 5/2/08 First published in response to a story on her MySpace blog.

GLIMMERING RAY DUET

2008-06-27T19:17:00.000-07:00

Poems 1996

Lucky Stars
Hypnosis
9:30 am
Friend
See Spot Run
Mirrors
Spigot
At Odd Times
Get Me Outta / Into Here
Rails
Loco-Motif
My Sadness
Peaks
Es Per Rondo
Two Poets Circle A Rose
The Lock-Up
The Silent Treatment

Dedicated to Katie and Nicky for rekindling the fire
And bringing poetry back into my life

To read each individual poem click on it's title above or in the archive menu at right.

The following 17 poems (indexed above) are from the collection
GLIMMERING RAY DUET (c) 1996 Brad Riesau

To read each individual poem click on it's title above or in the archive menu at right.

Lucky Stars

2008-06-27T19:16:00.002-07:00

We found each other
Lucky stars
Shooting 'cross a Western sky
Two burning planets
intersect

- 2/14/96

Hypnosis

2008-06-27T19:16:00.001-07:00

I want to tell the world...
some twisted
obsessive preacher
shave my head, perhaps
haunt airports
mountain tops
soapbox megaphone
bicycle door-to-door
sell roses on street corners.

Spread the light
Glimmering ray duet
flickering spark
Scintillating flame
Streams of glowing brilliancy
Lustrous
glint of starlit sparkle
Dazzling, phosphorescent
illumination
Resplendent, glorious radiance
Luminous, electric
Flash.

Stopping at her eyes
I'm hopeless
a goner.

- 5/7/96

9:30a.m.

2008-06-27T19:15:00.000-07:00

Your love
Intoxicating. Addictive
it's ease, simplicity
of expression
Engulfs my decaying splendor
As a fog-bound dawn
Surrounds
The first, insistent rays
of morning.

The coming day
Eventually resplendent
Born of dramatic chiaroscuro

The portentous song
The whispering morning dove
Conspire
questioning
angelic eyes
to life.

To be your waking vision
is
to be
Immortal

- 5/7/96

Friend

2008-06-27T19:14:00.002-07:00

Cloudy canopy stills the air
A pre-burst calming
of the ardent elements.
You are my illustrious blanket.
Enveloping my frail perception
Strengthening
my tenuous resolve
Cuddling my fragile intensity
Nurturing my delicate candor.

I want to stitch a cloak
From your vigorous passion
Cobble boots
from your streamlined vitality
Fashion my costume
from the millinery
of your spontaneous tenderness.
To wear your giving nature
for all to see
Next to my skin
protecting
and illuminating my being
A talisman of considerable
beauty
and grace.

- 5/7/96

See Spot Run

2008-06-27T19:14:00.001-07:00

Little empty spot
Filled to the brim with nothing
Sounds, dull & lifeless
Face, a stone wall stare.
Tight little doors
Slam open and, shit,
Shut
Giftless holiday jeer.

"Hang ten, Cowboy.
One ain't enough."
Is there a point to this avoidance
Or just a slap in the gut?
Too deep to know
Too slow to creep on out of here
out of mind
out of touch
out of my league.
Done.

- 6/6/96 troc

Mirrors

2008-06-27T19:13:00.000-07:00

I.
Now
you are me
jealousy beckons me
forward
toward the strength
of your fragile ego
the embrace
of your outstretched friendship
the cool,
fragrant,
musky scent
of your love for her.

She
the catalyst
the muse
passionate vehicle
coincidentally
exposing my buried self-confidence
bruising my ticking clock
like a mirror
of when I was you.

(When
I became
one
with the wildcat
of my inner
reverberating
restlessness...
When
the world's mystery and newness,
apocalyptic tumbling
head
over ass
-kissing
heels
dealt a daily blow
to what I considered reality...
When
I was convinced the world was my canvas
that my SPIRIT
my eyes
my liberal soul
would chase down the devil's dragons
beat them into fiery oblivion
with passion
grace
and beautiful
caring Heart.

My fingertips touched
everything --
new...)

II.

to drink wine
on a marble statue of some
pioneering immigrant
who made the wild
wilderness of San Francisco
tame
for legions of thrill-seeking
maverick
mind-rovers
for all times to come.

I sat
with one of few angels
who have graced my intellect,
my battered soul
my racing heart
with instant
no
holds
barred
timeless understanding.

We drank
We cried
We drank
watched twinkling ships
turn to stars
dotting the pre-fog horizon
touched each other's skin
with laughing breath
drying the tears
with dreams.

I'd go away and scribble down
inane
though heartfelt
mirrors of my tortured love
of my naive fears
of open,
thrilled eyes

when I was you.

-- 6/20/96 fat rick's
for nicky galasso

Spigot

2008-06-27T19:12:00.000-07:00

I.

stranger;
nemesis to himself
foisting drill-press limitation
hard-edged
guilt by disassociation
fire line discombobulation
on one's own psyche.

not particularly healthy
non-controllable, weirdly osmotic
chemical reaction to heart's conundrums;
not conducive to positive growth potential.
lose the diagnosis
...race for the cure.

II.

there has not been a day
without tears
(waterfall;
glacial trickle > ocean roar
record setting, soaking pearls
of rejected anger, mists of acceptance
beauty's reflected appreciation
longing’s widening, leaking fissure)
raining for 49 humid days
dark, ebony nights.
after 15 years of drought,
thirsting for tear's acknowledgment
of some dab of emotion left floating inside,
the partched earth
rock solid
impenetrable
like my stupidity
my rigorous, inflexible blinders
the spidery flawed face of the self-loathing mirror
turned shamefully to the wall.
Barely a smidgen of moisture crept through.
But what did seeped into the cracked weaknesses
of my hardened self-hatred
created rivulets of hope
positive flow

(beneath the surface,
waterways tinged of reminiscence
just navigable
in the eerie inner darkness,
the memory of passionate language of thought
floating
downstream
toward that light)

III.

my face
flushes briefly with the warmth...
stopping breath
time
memory
flow
only to slip further away
always, unexplainably out of her grasp
always mysteriously in reach
waiting
always for that warm glimmer
upon my saddened brow.

always
the light
she silently calls out
whispering my given name
singing the word "beautiful"
softly on my every breath.

always
a darker reality
than the soul can bear.

IV.

time cradles light like a fragile child
sneering menacingly at the baby's face
calling its hand.
full of love, sustenance and compassion
the light's radiant smile
briefly tickles time's chin
only to dim
in it's powerful stare.

-- 6/23/96

SPIGOT was also published in an early version in the poetry zine, A Hindu, A Buddhist & A Lion Tamer #2 (Folcroft, PA 1996). That early version also made an appearance in the poetry zine, The Children of the Light, Vol. 1 published in Hockessin, DE in Summer 1997. The earlier version can be found here in a blog listing called MORE EARLY PUBLISHED WORK from March 23, 2010.

At Odd Times

2008-06-27T19:11:00.002-07:00

at odd times my jagged image
my silly disposition
my soft words drift into your mind
occasionally
with decreasing frequency

at odd times your luxurious being
your shadow love
your soft touch slips out of my mind
briefly.
for the most frightening of moments
I've forgotten about you.
you,
like some reassuring rain cloud
filled with potential thunderclaps
threatening downpours
possible springtime thaw and blossoming seed
the bloom of our short season of growth --
gone for the most sub-divided of seconds
and then
you return.
to define each flickering moment
like the scent defines the rose.

-- 5/96

Get Me Outta/Into Here

2008-06-27T19:11:00.001-07:00

he only wants to be a ghost
observe but not be seen
a moment to be left alone
oh, such a frightening thing.
he only wants to be embraced
by everyone he meets
to make his mark, an egotist
a legend on the streets.

to burn all of the telephones
all books and magazines
tell no one your secret name
or any other things.
save it all up, held inside
or maybe on this page.
keep it deep, all bottled up
and never act your rage.

or else you might just change your tune
and open up your heart
and let that person rise in you
t'was there right from the start.
write shitty songs and poetry
that tears apart your soul
and if you really can't resist
it just might make you whole.

- 6/24/96 possible lyric??

Rails

2008-06-27T19:10:00.001-07:00

Rails
against the sun
steel glimmer fading fast
Rails
whose time has come
whose time was in the past
Rails
who changed the nation's face
shrinking large from vast
Rails
whose labored beds built from blood & sweat
men from harsher worlds worked harder still and yet
Rails
transport the myth, the gold, the crop, the seed
the legend of the West, the locomotive steed
Rails
lull me to sleep,
the click commits the clack
Rails
infect my dreams
where, never coming back
Rails
rode the hips of hills
the stockyards. Neal and Jack.
Rails
glisten in the blazing sun
whistle in the rain
Rails
away from here we run
Rails
...freedom on the train.

- 7/1/96 4:10-4:12 PM on the Express train to NYC from Wilmington

RAILS was also published in the poetry zine, A Hindu, A Buddhist & A Lion Tamer #2 (Folcroft, PA 1996)

Loco-Motif

2008-06-27T19:09:00.001-07:00

I.

as the air...
a graceful flower of sustenance
filled with the spring of youth
morning's fresh cut grass
breathing traces of the damp night
lingering around my shoulders
haunting me with her presence

II.

lulling railroad lullabies
sing one name
over and over and over the miles
I begin to recognize its whisper
there, just beneath the chatter.
at first
my self-congratulatory ego
heard my blighted name
"Call me to the journey
to the rail's seductive whistle"

No...it is something more beautiful
simple and
destined to twist my future perceptions
of sound:
a mantra, litany, confessional
temptation of light.
again
and again
I taste your coaxing name in my ears.

III.

Return.

~ 7/1/96 en route to NYC on the train

my sadness

2008-06-27T19:08:00.001-07:00

To hold your reassuring flesh against me
My sad, weary head trembling at your breast
The forgiving beat of your tender, impassioned heart
Singing its tolerance
It's racing, spontaneous fire
Melting my icy soul's extinct veneer
To molten, liquid teardrops.

Teardrops that carry my timeless love
My tortured ecstasy
My unrequited, magnificent halting of all thought
But of your otherworldly beauty
Down
Down my ancient, ravaged face; forest of frown
Past neglected, pulsing neckline
Forming a thin, sad layer between our flesh...
Teardrops lick your delicate nipple as they fall
Tickle, caress -- leaving that sweet, pink angel
Awaiting the next, wet kiss
Falling down to grace the majesty of your stomach
Puddling to overflowing,
Down
Until my tears mingle with your excitement
Pulling the last of my sadness
Momentarily out of my reach.

Take my sadness into you
As a token of my heart's infinite longing
As a reminder of the power of your miraculous love
As a tribute to the perfection of our meeting
A remembrance of the cruelty
And beauty
of fate.

I give you my sadness:
Absorb its tenderness, its sensitivity,
Its honest faith
Trust and limitless dedication;
Discard its pain, fury and restlessness.
Take my sadness in all its depth
In all its unbounded joy for what could have been
Had not time's desperate hand
Made fools of us all.

Hold my sadness to your naked breast
Its memory will comfort you always,
As my heart lies within it
clutching onto your angelic grace.

~ Cape May Point, 7/3/96

Peaks

2008-06-27T19:06:00.000-07:00

for Paulette.

I.

She sat on the piano bench
Holding court
The memory hazy but for the falling
Away
Of
The

Earth.

II.

Suspicion reigned on her brow
Perfunctory "Hello"
Was I here to steal their boy?
Who was this macho-jock-surf hippy
Traveling incognito with their Carlitos?

Joanne talked of massaging your stomach in a clockwise motion as to better facilitate shitting. "Works every time," she said.
No b.s. this one (Pun up-ended).
He showed me the view from this precarious perch on Twin Peaks. Wide. Bright and vast.
In the undulating heat waves on the window glass
the hills of San Francisco, City of Dreams, moved
like the shimmering bay in the distance... Waves of Victorian edge and psychedelic color. I turned and in the dim unlit room
saw her move out of the corner of my eye
The memory of the decor, the ambiance, the passing of time is hazy but for the falling
Away
Of
The
Earth .

III.

Inadvertently
You broke a rule, a confidence.
The Seal of Approval,
The Panel of Experts was not consulted.
The sacred text opened and in the bob and weave of the road's
playful twisting he offered you a glimpse into my creative heart.
By chance
By fate's kind grace
Pages turned as if by themselves
revealing two women, embracing.
Hazy, art-y, naked.
Your eyes stopped and scanned the red ink handsomely caressing the edge of the photocard. You saw your name. You saw her name.
You saw my knowledge and acceptance and sensitive attraction
To the beauty of your love for each other.
"A-ha...so he's not scouting for Carlitos
He's watching me. He's attracted to me. He's taken by me...
I guess he might not be so bad after all."
Your innate curiosity was tickled
Your cynicism on call.
Your face, eyes, voice, statuesque beauty,
aura, flora, fauna, (do ya wanna?)
etched into my cells for life since the moment I saw you
sitting on the piano bench
holding court
tho' the rest of the details of that fateful moment, like
this road to Stinson beach, are hazy but for the falling
Away
Of The Earth.

IV.

Picnic. Camera. Dune grass
waves us in for a landing.
Sun bright, "Californian, like us," he said.
Our quartet sitting cross-legged in the sand.
She, sarcastic and funny full of mischief.
He, open, naive and trusting
Excited and trepidatious at the same time
And you
Suddenly curious and careful
but pushing the envelope that lies between the two
its glue wet and ready to seal
or not.

I shot you with a fork in your mouth
Lips pursed, no smile...not my best camera work, no doubt,
But those eyes --
Staring straight into me
Dead serious
Like a vow, a four-alarm fire.
You pulled me aside
away from the others.

"Let's walk..."

you said, for the first of many times to come.
A frequent signal
of a special, connective moment
just around the corner,
down the stairs...but the memory is hazy, gleaned from old photographs and the passionate re-telling of the tale
but for the Falling
Away
Of The
Earth.

V.

We walked toward the Pacific.
Verdant, grassy roller-coaster hills challenge our vision
In a race to the churning drama of the sea
As if the drought's powerful hold on their rolling existence
Meant not near as much as the exhilaration of the fall to mother ocean.
"At least I'm enjoying the ride" goes the song,
not yet written here in 1977.
Gray, foaming brine, so distant
So unrepresentative of our young, focused, searching minds.
Our identification with the sea's battering, relentless, insistence...
Its violent, upheaval of all solid matter...
Its mirror's opaque stare, chipping away at time's handiwork
wouldn't wash over us 'til much later in our lives.
For now, the sea was playful, pretty and vastly intriguing.

For now, I became that hill
Tam's hips giving in to gravity.
Gravity = fun, a playful force. Apples and such. Cosmic balance.
Without gravity, Flight = boredom.
For each slow, rising climb there followed an instant of inertia Followed by a swift, giddy decline
A breath at the bottom as the speed sucks in its stomach for the next
Lesser rise...
Only to plunge joyously down, faster
With each dip and gully and mound and...
overhead the treacherously deep, serious blue of the sky
Smiled upon my heart a billowy kaleidoscope of acceptance.

The moment spread before me
diffusing time into something not to be conquered or feared
So deliciously ornate and uncluttered
Uncomplicated
Molasses on granite
Crawling up out of the cracks of the unimpressed stone
Widening our view, buffering our remedies
Scaling peaks we've yet approached.
Time -- a big, forgiving roving pick-up band of starving mariachis
Playing harmonized counter-point:
Two melodies, one spontaneous purr...
Your voice pulls my unfocused eyes from the horizon's indifference
Though the memory of your words is hazy but for the falling
Away Of The Earth.

VI.

Carlitos called in a panic
"You must come out here tonight. She called.
We're celebrating her birthday and she wants to get together with you.
Aren't you excited?" he gushed as I pulled the skin I'd just jumped out of
back on over my head.
She arrived just after I did and our eyes met. It wasn't a spark really that I saw, just something indescribably familiar...irresistibly comfortable...I fell into her spell like a hypnotist's show dog. Easy mark.
Our words danced around each other like moths fully cognizant of the implications of a flame this bright. Carlitos fluttered around us like a proud Mama chattering about his refried beans and folding together burritos with fresh Spinach from his garden while our energies folded together with fresh panache from our candid pantries. We ate and I tasted her interest and prayed she tasted my eager exhilaration.
As I swirled her questioning gaze
over my taste buds for a brief moment longer
the door flew open and St. Theresa Nightingale flew in
on the fragrant breeze breaking our concentration with a cloud of sparkling wrap-around joy. Our private feast was over. Dessert would be served 14 miles west as I sat stunned and interrupted in my reverie.

-- The kitchen of this tiny bayside apartment
was filled to bursting with laughing
loving
beautifully enticing women
none of whom had a pinch of interest in the two men
sitting in the living room adjacent.
Their camaraderie and attentions were reserved for each other
and he and I sat and talked for hours.
Saving the world.
Planning our destinies.
Soliloquies of beauty and madness and youth and passionate confusion.
Of course, I heard not a word that either of us spoke.
Even the turntable's repetitive caress of the same side of this record
Gato Barbieri's caliente tenor lines
blowing sensuous Latin tones into the air
over and over again
went in one ear and out the toe.
My mind was on the kitchen doorway.
She sat, her long legs folded under her on the straight-backed chair
Laughing, talking, glancing every few seconds
out into the room
where my eyes were always waiting for hers.
We spent 3 hours looking at each other
through the bustling haze of swirling conversation around us
talking with our eyes, catching up on way-old times
times even we didn't recall,
lives we could only surmise had been shared between the ancient relatives of these two pair of eyes.

Suddenly, she stood, walked to me as my flesh tingled
-- My heart beat like a Buddy Rich coronary test pattern
"Let's walk..."

We got as far as the bottom of the stairs
She turned and put her long fingers on my arm
She told me that the woman that she loved
Was the only woman she had loved
That she liked men
That she really liked men
That she liked what was going on between us
That she wanted me to know where she stood
That she wanted me to know that she was very much
very sure that she very much
would like to get to know me better
She called me "Bradley" and I think we walked back up the stairs
to an old-boyfriend/"coming-over-tomorrow-may-be-better" party
but of this
my memory is hazy but for the falling
Away
Of
The
Earth.

VII.

My thoughts of her
rose with me in the mornings that followed
Carried me through classes blunting my tired stupors with smiling
certainty,
Ate meals alongside me
Followed me to movies ("cheap date")
Rang their presence around every chiming note of music I heard
Every bit of conversation, every smile and every breath...
My vocabulary increased incrementally by the amount of time I spent in her presence --
reincarnation, inhibition, fascination, imperfection,
unrequited, reunited, love-at-first-sighted...

I lay in a small room off Clayton Street back porch
and wrote a poem, striving to live up to my misguided poetic yearnings
-- in the dawn's light I heard the magnificent whisper
of their lips meeting
the lovers' embrace
and I wrote of an ant carrying two purple flower petals
from under the door
past me and into your room...
an offering.
I wanted to crawl in right behind him
invisible
and luxuriate in the light of your love for each other.
But, I was me...hard to believe
and turned to the other door
silently watching the morning's charm
wink at me
thru the frosted glass
some unknown secret slinking off with the comforting fog
adrift in worlds it would not be my calling to render apart.

We haunted bookstores and restaurants and bars
falling into each others' confidence and trust
with an agile grace not known to either of us before.
With a speed and depth that would have caused
nosebleeds and conniptions and screaming hallucinogenic visions
to lesser humans.
There we were in our invincibility
Our connected, directed, reflected strength
Shivering like babies,
like hairless ducklings sliding on ice
quacking on about fear
patience
uncertainty
as if we couldn't have saved the world
if we'd been able to see past our new roses.

Other than the vision of her from the chest up over cappuccino
or pasta or drinks sitting at a table across from me looking positively gorgeous straight into my eyes and yearning for connection and profundity and that smile and spontaneous laugh making me want to be the funniest man on earth at that very moment...
other than that
the memory is hazy but for the falling
Away
Of the
Earth.

VIII.

Sometimes, late at night
after too much wine
or too much whining
too many decibels
too many hours just plain surviving
I wake in a cold sweat and the only way to fall
back into the comforting shroud only sleeping through dawn can inspire
is to count
...not sheep
not stars
not coins, cars or minutes between the far-off hum of the passing trains
I count words
sentences
silences
fragments of the endless conversation we call friendship
That years ago fell into a pattern
a pattern of miles
initiative
doubts and white hot indecisiveness
kept at a safe but questioning distance
a conversation that began once
and continued through the ether
soaring through space like the path of human thought
all dream and vision
certainty and hope
faith and passion
belief in the rock solid destiny and kindness and grace
that placed you on a piano bench
and me, head heavy on this pillow
and I count
hazy
but for the comforting falling away
of
the Earth.

-- july 1996

Es Per Rondo

2008-06-27T19:05:00.000-07:00

Waiting...
...to be born
...to be fed
...to be torn
...to be bled
...to be changed
...to grow-up
...to be deranged
...to giddy-yup
...for Christmas
...for a sale
...on the Isthmus
...by the rail
...for your birthday
...to be kissed
...'til next Earth Day
...to be missed
...for your touch
...to make love
...for a crutch
...for a glove
...for the answer
...for your turn
...to ask questions
...for to learn
...to bite your breasts
..to taste your skin
..to pass your test
..to let you in
..to sigh a sigh
..to catch your eye
..to see you naked body there before me as I cry
...for you to pinch my meager ass, stroke my gentle arm, touch your tongue to mine, whisper in my ear, lift your sublime porcelain neck to my gliding fingertip,
give me "The Look" when I stare into your eyes with all the love pouring out of my gushing soul like a song born of the desert wind, just give me a bit of your time and passion, love and kindness...your sympathy, trust, respect and care...
...to hear your laughter tickle my ears
...to taste your raspberry heart, your strawberry lips
...to give you the world, one tingle at a time, all the tastes, touches, smells, sounds, sights, places, things, wants, needs, surprises, compliments, advice, insights, bright lights, all the midnights that you can fathom
...to watch you dance
...for my last chance
...to bury my face
in your memory

-- 7/8/96 (this re-edit: 10/24/10)

Two Poets Circle A Rose

2008-06-27T19:04:00.001-07:00

The blush of a crimson rose
Born of the wind
Nourished by its passion for life
Splits the dry cantankerous earth
gasping for air
reaching for the pool of sky
petals uplifted in the dawn's yawning light.
She waits
Searching for some sustaining cloudburst
Flaunting her blushing beauty.
Her heavenly scent
teases the wind's feathery wings.

In a cloud of stifling rust-colored dust
The Yammering Dynamic Duo rolls into town
Pants and guards down.
The nearly expired salt lake
gleaming heat wave exhilaration
at these latest of victims --
heat stroke, sun stroke, havin'-too-much-fun stroke
They broke the ego stroke, spoke
and skidded to a stop
The cool, shadow of the long-stemmed rose
Bites her lip and falls across their squinted, blazing
Half-crazed, bloodstained
Poetic eyes --
Four glistening globes of anticipation
Scanning the horizon like re-con soldiers
Two Smart-bomb brainiacs searching the wild hinterlands
the dusty, foxholes of their shared passions
their tousled liquid vision
animal taste for adventure, lust and the Flame.
Searching
for the muse.

They tumble, landing in an appropriate pile before her
Scrambling to pull themselves off of each other
with enough finesse to catch her eye; they dove for their pencils,
their sketchbooks, their journals;
dove for their sparking electrical outlets in airy,
scented hotel rooms in various climes,
in small dark piss-smelling rooms,
on embankments,
in church pews,
brothels,
weed-ridden drive-in movie theatres
deserted all over America's face like lost ideals,
vanquished morals, defeated humanism, faded love;
dove for their cocks to scribble
hard-earned dedication to craft
their teeming, fetid indecipherable scrawls of agony
their glistening chins and in-bred competitive spirits...
shit or shinola...
grit or granola?...
Nothing matters anymore...
don't care about anything...
you snooze, you muse...
all the hits...
i can't help it...
goddess...
angel...
lifeboat...
they've grown up writing nonsensical gibberish
aimed at their own egos
aimed at their own hard-ons
aimed at their own needy self-esteem...
write, write, write, write, write, write...RIGHT.

Electric bills soar, typewriters roar
politically incorrect p.c.'s throw their overstuffed similes
and metaphors back at them quicker than the monitor's green glow
can reach their drooling faces...
The pressure of coming up with something real to say
day in
day out
suddenly lifted
by a rose --
by any other name
a miracle
dropped into their billowing laps like a sack of golden moths
saved from the flame
fluttering
in baited anticipation of flight...

they each grab a satin corner of the bag
and in one brotherly shake
the sky is filled with the barely discernible sound of
thousands of flapping wings
wings of air and lace
flesh and lash
dream and hope.

circling the rose
in opposite directions
the poets
(as they address themselves in mock-serious tones)
nearly collide at every pass
grazing each others' self-image
imprinting each others' energy-field with a shared solidity
equal parts magic, obsession and trust
as they race to capture the rose's essence
on the open page.

-- for 67 days and nights this goes on one morning
on the dry lake bed
home to nothing but wind and dust and ghostdance sound
two circling poets and the blush of a crimson rose.

II.

The poets sit
Exhausted
their once strong legs twisted beneath them
aching arms around each other
a concessional display of confessional withdrawal.
Their lives, lies, ego-centric eccentricities tossed into a pile
tear-stained empty pages
reflecting light from the full moon's mocking
resonance. The desert chill whispers up a breeze.
In this light they see bursting from the distant trail of a shooting star
a widening glistening glow
slowly easing toward them from some heavenly niche in the
horizon's suit of armor.
there is a distinct purring
an angelic fluttering
of what has to be thousands
of luminescent creatures
floating on wing like a neon blanket of mother's tears
bathing them in radiant warmth and the dizzying perfume of
familiarity
and on the lightest of winds
the soft smile of breath beckons them...

they race to the rose
they each kiss its form with their eyes
they touch its heart with their devotion
the rose cries for more
the rose cries for immortality
the rose cries for lust
for passion
the rose cries for respect
the poets, naked before her
beg
for her mercy --

"Please, let us live without you in our hearts
we cannot be strong enough to love so deeply
to care so completely
to spend our hours wanting only to show your beauty back to you
to nourish and feed and wet your yearning soul with our caring passion
please let us follow the moon away from here
to a place of definition and solid ground
to a place of boredom and predictability
to a world where we can still fool ourselves into believing
that our words are important and not just weak reflections of
the moonlight shining in a drop of dew as it falls
from you
onto our unworthy lips"

she pulls them both into her center
the heart of her character
the essence of her magnitude.
it was easier to draw them in than she expected --
they didn't put up much of a fight:
one came, fast and easy, cock first
toward her...a flash in the night
bouncing her way like a magnetic confident ball of iron
all show of course
but such an exuberant little show
all youthful vigor and confused denial
a wall of carelessness, working hard to incorporate sadness and angst
into his broadening palette
failing to mask the terror of being without her affection, so easy to love,
so hard to be without;

the other, more slowly,
face first
smile full of doubt and tears
surprising himself with his ability to feel anything
to expose his soul so readily
naked wonder of lost identity
poking him awake then jumping back under the cover of night
carrying within his mouth a depth of conscience
deadly only to his fragile self
entwined with a strength of passionate, vulnerable time...
she absorbed him instantly.

Once buried
deep inside her heart
they find gilded streets of heavenly grandeur
paved by their best intentions
swept of their doubting nightmare visions
and graced by their own self-love and its respectful reflection.
They smile at each other
click their heels in a soft thud of naked feet
and soar off
into the rose-tinted sky of dawn's
yawning light.

In the red-dust of morning
Two books lay open catching heat
Pages flutter in the sun, empty but for identical rose petals
tattooed with delicate golden marks left
by butterflies' wings
and in each
a rose-colored inscription reading

"Beautiful"

III.

One poet
makes a mad dash and plucks the rose from the earth
puts it between his teeth and runs
fast and furious with all the speed and false fearlessness becoming youth.
The rose quivers in his grasp
free at last from her own self-preservation
succumbing to his restless fire
his hidden dependence on her essence.

One poet
raggedly staggers behind
follows at an unsafe distance
always keeping the faint blushing glow of their forward motion
in his vision
around every corner
around every brick wall.
waiting
for the call that will never come
crying for the time desperately wasted
cursing fate's dastardly bent sense of humorless spite
but still
walking
crawling
waiting
for that moment of transcendent beauty
that invisible tickle on his pounding heart
reminders of every lovely thought
every mind-boggling vision of beauty and passion and spirit
he has ever had the luck and good fortune to experience
all his long, twisting life.
All contained in the whisper of a scent
the blush of a desert rose
that sat waiting to inspire
waiting to give her radiant heart
to a wandering
floundering
shell of a man
who had forgotten the poet's heart inside.

IV.

One poet
The weight of this relentless beauty
this unforgiving perfection
the scent of this glowing, exuberant flower
blossoming in his presence
blooming a richer, darker red in his grasp
overwhelms his unpolished agenda
overruns his still forming vision of himself.
Scared he sets the flower aside
Gently
Sweetly trying to recall this exact spot for future reference
He turns to walk away spinning
again
to look with each step
unsure of his decision
unsure of his direction
unsure of his heart.

One poet, he finds her
alone, staring into the distance
a rose fading in the summer's heat
not responding to her own tenacious strength
watching the horizon
for the shadow of her heart's memory.

He kisses her softly
brushes his tears across her delicate petals
wishes only that he had the right words
the comforting touch
to bring her radiance back to her.
if only he could grab her attention
and for a slow moving moment in time
catch her glance
let her see reflected there in his moist, puddling eyes
let her see the beautiful
perfect blush of a rose that he holds deep within his heart.
If she could only see
beyond the past
before the future tears another soul away
takes another careening life
and instantly leaves nothing but memory.
If she could only see the deepest
burning fire
love's loyal commitment to defeat
sitting there beside her on the dry desert floor
crying tears for their crossing paths
crying tears for their thinnest of moments
crying tears for their happenstance neglect of
each other's powerful spirits
crying tears for two poets
and the blush
of a crimson rose.

~ summer 1996 (re-edited 10/24/10)

The Lock Up

2008-06-27T18:32:00.001-07:00

I'm a criminal.
I feel too strongly.
My plea:

insanity.

They sentenced me to heartbreak.
Dreaming,

my prison cell.

Your eyes are my escape...

~ rtr, spontaneous 8/9/96

The Silent Treatment

2008-06-27T17:48:00.001-07:00

so
that's it, huh.
everything is dust.
smiles, rusty
slowly curl at the corners
like old newspaper
holding tightly to yesterday's news
as if to re-read the stories
the names
the crime scenes
the box scores
isn't worth the effort.
as if nostalgia
memory
happiness
incoherent sonnets
dedicated
inspired
and informed
by your very breathing of this air
aren't worth their weight in ink.
what was I thinking?
how could I have thought that even
without the passion
the turmoil
the stifling, steaminess
the liberating thoughtfulness
the slow-motion crawl
of time's winking giggle
without the naivety
the blinders
the one-liners
the stone pillars
the telephones, journals,
the soft-pedaled flashing eyes
the little eveyday choices
what to wear, see, say, do, touch, smell, breath, live;
without the flagship "Insanity"
on which I refuse to hang my rain drenched sails
still floating offshore
how could I have thought that
by becoming reasonable, rational, non-confrontational, passive,
unassumingly respectful of the sanctity of your position, acceptant of my fate
the cards dealt to me, the games and argumentary inner turmoil
seized and dealt with and worked on and mulled over and observed and
discussed and set aside and learned from
how could I have thought that that might reassure you
that I would not be some nemesis
some overwrought loser cowering sheepishly in your misunderstood shadow
that life does go on
that sometimes things just are
that it's all right to just sit and watch the wheels spin sometimes
how could I have thought that your memory would be as selective
as your willingness to just look me in the eye
not like you look at a car speeding toward you
a deadline careening your way
a nearly spent hurricane crushed into a heavy breeze
already blown past
spitting nothing but shade upon your coveted sunsplashed earth,
not the way you crinkle your eyes
at a taste gone sour
a light too bright
a thought too painful
but as you look at a photo from the past
a vacation you took when you were a kid
the beaches, the bee stings,
the postcards, the interminable car ride
the laughter always louder than the tears\
"Smiling uses fewer muscles than frowning."

am I that big of an ogre
a dangerous
ranting fool?
am I not just a sponge of emotion?
a bucket of intensity
a spill of overcooked sensitivity?
oh, how silly of me to finally ignore you
you who would never take the plunge into forgiveness
the dive into sustained civility
the break with your fractured mirror
of my selfishness
my failure
my opaque rose-colored glasses.
how could I have thought that
we could
still be
friends.

what was I thinking?
that you cared
that you understood
that for a glimmer of an instant
what happens to my heart and soul and mind
strikes a tiny note of compassion
that the way you judge a person's humanity
is somehow weighed in relation to the depth of their feeling
their struggle and desire to overcome their demons
their tendency to offer of their hearts and time and ears
to you when you are needy.
so I guess I either don't measure up
or you could give a fuck.
just something else I must accept.
I ask for nothing
no secrets
no revelations
not even that look
or that skin
or that laugh.
no commitment
no loyalty
no payoff
no gamble or risk.
I just refuse
to allow
you to despise
my memory.
as if I had a choice.
what was I thinking?
friend.
look it up.

-- Fall 1996

THE WAKING DREAM

2008-06-27T02:16:00.000-07:00

I.
Alone
I live a waking dream
each moment
touched
a truth unseen.
But there she is before me still
as real as evening’s coming thrill

Alone
awake where vision strong
each moment
graced
by sleep’s sweet song
and all I feel surrounding me
as real as dreamed lucidity

Alone
I sleep and she is there
beside me fingers in her hair
pressed warm and close against me, tight
as dawn to day, dream to night

Alone
I live a waking dream
each moment
touched
a truth unseen
and here she is, here safe from harm
a waking dream safe in my arms

II.
What’s that sound of breaking glass?
or shattered hearts
or time that passed
too fast
too soon
too good to last?
What is that sound?

III.
Am I a fool for falling in
your pool of eyes that capture men
to steal their hearts and make them spin.
Am I a fool for falling in?

Was I a fool to just not see
that you could never fall for me
or just a man with hopes and dreams
just wanting love and softer things?
Was I a fool to just not see?

And as a fool, I wait in line
for short, sweet moments that I find
each time your eyes look into mine
so still this fool, he waits in line.

Of course, I just can’t help myself
hope you could want me on your shelf
in spite of all my inner doubts
to sing your praises, shout them out
and so this fool can’t help himself.

I’ll be this fool until I die
for beauty will just catch my eye
and make me hope and dream and cry.
I’ll be this fool until I die.

And as a fool I stand my ground
won’t trade a moment I have found
so while I can, I’ll hang around…
to catch a glimpse, to see you smile
to hear you laugh, to spend a while
to touch your hand, to dream and pray
that maybe once, perhaps someday
I’ll hold you close and feel your skin
against my own and someday when
I’ll taste your lips, so soft and sweet
thank destiny, led us to meet.

IV.
In the aftermath
of your confession
I can
literally
think
of nothing
except the excruciating fact
that we may
never
experience
our
first
kiss
together. This
simple
fact alone
completely
ruins
my day.

V.
“What would you like?” she said to me with her usual rushed but sweetly genuine smile.
Super white tuna, sliced jalapenos, salmon, wasabi tobiko,
wrapped around
cruncy spicy tuna and more jalapenos.

I realize that I just asked you for “A Kiss of Fire.”
You laugh. “Later”
and giggling
walk on to the next waiting table.
My eyes well up
and burn
long
before
the meal
arrives.

VI.
And when I leave town
can I get a picture
too?
Smile pretty
with you
on my arm?
A souvenir
of a heart
that fell
too
fast.

VII.
Soon, I’ll be gone. Distant.
Surrounded by loving family.
Seductive waves of lustful adventure
two glorious women on either side of me
caressing my excitement
my neglected years
realized dreams and fantasies.
But amidst these joyous days
not one will go by unscathed
without yearning
for your passing touch
upon my waiting arm
laid across this sticky table
counting the minutes
until you pass again
always saying, “I’ll be right back”
always a soft touch of your fingertips
or if I’m lucky
a sharp, friendly slap on my bicep
when I say some smart or funny remark.
How I love, miss
and long for those sharp, little slaps
wishing for one
right now
right here
right anywhere
wherever I am.

VIII.
This moment
a realization
that no matter how patient
how slowly we take it
how careful and considered my every move
at this very moment
as you go home to his arms
to your books
your studious nights
that my dreaming is just that,
the void within me cannot be filled
as it has been thus far
with your smiles
glancing touches
quick hello and goodnight hugs
and splattered
half-finished sentences.

In a world of hope
that which seemed enough
Is now just shattered dreams
become real.

But still
with each moment
each look into your eyes,
even if it’s some one-sided connection
I’ve fabricated in my hopeful imagination,
can so change
the definition of beauty and life
as we know it.

And to say I’ve seen something in those eyes
smiling back at me
a blessing
I’ll not soon forget.

IX.
When you told me you were spoken for
a boyfriend there behind your door
oh, how my heart crashed to the floor
surprising me
surprising me.

I wondered how I’d spend my time
instead of looking forward to
our fleeting moments so sublime
I wanted you
so wanted you.

Though lovers, two
I hold so close
with tenderness
and lust and love,
it seems my arms desire the most
embracing, open sharing of
impassioned hearts and minds and souls
of those who can observe me whole,
in all my splendid dignity
to hurt no one, creatively.
In you and them
found those who can
embrace this loving
“Renaissance man.”

Not something that I’d call myself
more like “A Dreaming Realist”
expect that where I am, I’ll be,
for bliss and pain, both sides we see.
The zin, the yang; the good, the bad
And so it goes, the happy, sad
In life, in love, in ecstasy
is also sorrow, hurt and we
accept both sides and become free.

So love, at times comes easily
or grabs us when we least expect.
We pray don’t treat love carelessly
enjoy the thrill with deep respect.
It wavers, drifts, ebbs and flows
so we must grab it when it shines.
However long its fire glows
ignoring so much fleeting time.

~ lyrics and poetics inspired by LS

MEET THE BEATS

2008-06-01T23:59:00.000-07:00

By Brad Riesau

The Allen Poems
POEMS DEDICATED TO ALLEN GINSBERG AND THE BEATS

Halo
Gregory & Son, City Lights, 1978
Regenerate
Meeting Allen
Beat Beats
Barefoot Tidepool
Nightmare
Whom Love
Bomb Threat
Triple Feature

Special thanks to Robert Hunter for his lifetime of inspiration and encouragement. who first published HALO in his online archives at http://www.hunterarchive/files/Poetry/Halo.html

Thanks to Bill & Anita Thompson, Gary Soto, Chris Jung, Donald Risty, Gale Leach, Karl Keller, Dennis McNally, Nicky Galasso

Originally published in a limited edition of one (and one artist's proof) in 2004. The poems listed above are (c) 1997-2004 Brad Riesau. They have been previously published in Brad's blog at myspace.com/v32unes.

The individual 10 poems indexed above form the collection MEET THE BEATS. You can read individual poems by clicking on the titles above or in the archive sidebar at right.

Halo

2008-06-01T23:58:00.000-07:00

For Allen Ginsberg 1926-1997

darkness
silences the racing mind
darkness
races the silenced mind
darkness
erases the mindless silence

Allen
visionary hard-sell salesman
pumping life into a generation
half dozen beat souls
outlaw spirit quest for belief
amidst
Eisenhower optimism tinted red with nuclear fear
pistol-tongue protest whiplash smile
adamant protective absorbency
of all
that was in need of exposure

exposure
ex-poseur
procured expulsion from American life set boredom
dreamchase
mind peeling candor

Take it
any way
take it, it is yours
it is your hard-earned right.
your right as breathing cell bag
your right as moving bone sack
your right as discerning human torch
as compassionate disillusionment of all that is dreamt
your right as festering, jubiliant earth walker

you're right
as brilliant hopeful realist
incendiary, pessimistic humanist
pharmacological test case miracle baby
as exploding head intellect
drawn from madness
familial sanitarium nightmare cushion,
drawn from edge to filigree edge
booklets filled with archival scrawl
(to someday buy you this waking Heaven in which to die)
redemptive sun thru plate-glass
unlike Moloch-peeping headcase 1948 Blakeian visionscape
fire escape
jerk-off window;
dissimilar to minuscule shuttering doors of perception
shut-eye puking yage tornado vision.
Your legacy:
unflinching, stalwart dedicated memory.

drawn from jazz drench Denver, smoke and Benzedrine clench
'46 Greyhound to New York City
100 mph down streets of callow legs to iron flesh
spirit muse
night embrace life embrace.....
drawn from myriad bound pages
reflecting off ever-present eyeglass frailty.....
Paterson dim night oppressive beauty-madness
red breakdown.

Soaked in inventive creation through fleshy eyeball circuitry:
volumes, sheaths of paper, forests of tree-death magnificence
The Written Page.
words.....sounds to thought to pen to paper to eyeglass eye
brain thought mouth ears
of millions.

touch his hand he lies still
touch his heart he howls always
touch his life burns fingertips infinitely.

ii.

As a young man I found his life overwhelming
a life lived in epic proportions
told with a fierce intelligence that shamed me of my trivial learning
told with a lion-hearted courage and fearlessness that cast the deepest of
shadows
told with a sweetness of perversity that fondled my own tortured simple-
minded lust
allowing freedom to be a grail of the holiest nature
told with an ease of humor and self-deprecating serious snicker
allowing my humanity to become bearable and graceful in its infancy.

iii.

Today, I circle the rose
He rose from his circle
devilish, bearded cherubim
without whom
worship muse
delicate abandon
without whom.....

were it not for your seduction of language
your explosion of promotion of rebellious like-minds
vast, loyal dedication to the proliferation of free
free the shackled chains of your cronies' lost sentences
free butcher-paper novelization spiel
free dream cinema blown-up close-up rise-up screaming portraits
of your small circle of friends, lovers, muse
friends
begat legend (in your minds) erased dungeons (in our minds)
begat
beat ghat
beat at bows of rebellious arbor, bows of religious ardor
begat dylan bohemian pot hip nudist hippie peace-nik mantra punk
anti-
anything but hope
appetite
craving on
ion.

may dictation serve the hopeless
May Day station swerve the blindness
meditation curve the sublimeless.

smoke clears Hoffman of all charges
charges fire
flower-petal war gag
Nations burn, Nixon free
gag chokes national hypnosis.....split-second glimmer:
hope
rings infernal
still
hope rings.

(causes, he pauses
help a man cut his losses)

iv.

infinite honesty.
infinite wisdom.
infinite jism.
infinite space in one's skull
fill the chasm
relentless search for the "more"-gasm.....
man's search for the better broomstick
bottomless cup of joe
the better slogan, the faster dupe, the cleaner whistle
the tastier morsel, the harder cock, the bigger payoff,
the catchier chorus, deeper commitment, more convincing lie,
the truer-ism.
man's search of what's left, what is right

to "accept madness, approve unconvention."
reflections bounce off sparkling moments. clicks of the stopwatch.
breaths in an ear. tears on a casket.
birth of morning.
words on paper, words in souls, memory.
balance.
the grand attraction of the breaking of rules.

If "Butler has no balls" then who ousted who?
Dirty windows signal breakthrough
letting "imagination go.....
open secrecy.....
scribble(d) magic lines from real mind"

Herbert's heisted hoodlum magic
Bull Lee, Solomon, Gregory yammer
Times Square cafeteria showdown
Levinsky, Stofsky, Alvah Goldbook,
Carlo lambastes Pokerino
Jean Louis staggers
Chianti glare his eye.

Six @ Six
"when poetry went public"
espousing the literature of risk
the widening circle of kicks
kicks
kickstart the heart of spoken expression
kickstart the soul of a slumbering nation
kicksmart the whole of a head's constant repression
kicks
kicks
kicks.

v.

in a small town in Pennsylvania a patriot, leader of men
buyer/seller of the American Dream
draws record crowds to the Moreland Funeral Home
Pledge of Allegiance, National Anthem, Boy Scout Oath, Taps.
This screwball loved by all
disciplinarian, humble good-deeder
His ashes last wished into an over-sized Pepsi can
and buried on his father's chest.

two days later
"legendary poet Allen Ginsberg died
among friends at home in New York City....."
diagnosis gives in to coma gives in to breathless peace
gives in to bones
dust
time
again, memory.
"and you die when you die.....OMMMMMM....."

Those poor Heaven's Gate folks were mistaken
too late to unpack their bags
redeem their Nike receipts
return their movie advance.....

this comet comes for the sentient soul of a curly black halo.

~ April 5-6, 1997

Gregory & Son, City Lights 1978

2008-06-01T11:57:00.000-07:00

Staggering
clown-like
exaggerated doom walk
thru aisle of paperbacks
Beat up racks of verbiage and criticism
Poetic liquid generational ramble.
He crawled in upright,
towhead blond boy,
dirty faced,
on his shoulders.
Kid’s hands full of his greasy, grey streaked
fright wig mussed up head o’ hair
in tiny filthy fists
holding on for the ride
wide smile
dreamy.

“Hey LAAAAARRRRRY…
You know why I’m here...”
Patrons turn to stare eyes squinting in question
Wondering, “Who is this madman?”
Those in close, precarious proximity
keep faces buried in books
pretend to not notice
try not to provoke.
“LAAARRRRRRY, I know you’re UP there…”

Careening past oversize, trade bound books
on tables, on make-shift easels
Swallowing the Eastern Philosophy aisle whole
with one grand swoop
he throws his right arm to the ceiling
pointing
“LARRY. Come down from there. I’m coming up. LAAARRY.
Come on, man. You can’t fool me. We all can feel you, man...
NOW!” demanding.
“You need to hear me out…
NOW LARRY.”

Rising
a pink, bald sun over the edge of balcony rail
the voice precedes the forehead momentarily
followed by the peaceful eyes
staring right at the spot below from whence the cries come
“Come back later, Gregory
I’m busy.”

“Don’t Larry. You’re fuckin’ with me…”
“Bye Gregory. I’ll see you later.”
With that he was gone
but for the smell
of gasoline.

I ask the clerk, who has rung up infamously scandalous
beautifully inappropriate, disproportionately controversial
abundantly righteous literary fodder at this very counter for years,
“Was that who I think it was?”

“For the time being,” he whispered.

- for Pauli & Katie
and Gregory Corso (1930-2001)

Regenerate

2008-06-01T11:56:00.000-07:00

“Our poet” --
claim him for us
For our misaligned, misunderstood, miserable and beautifully hopeful
picture-postcard-moment-in time generation
For our off-kilter memory of eyes
mirroring heat stroke desperation for more.

He’s ours
Infinite sensation of vision
never again ring so true
a fragmented snapshot
in death
like all great art
(a spontaneous smile)
reflect something past and gone
tint memory, readjust history,
resonant in its moment of creation.

Our poet sings
last poet of the 20th Century
last hurrah, love drenched farewell
last shot, near-empty clip
last bloody insurrection of tender yearning
his words float over nostalgic crowd,
smoke haze
up concrete steps through ears
directly into aging heart.
Capillaries flex, adrenaline rush, instant recall
memory to myth
front lawn tears, bottom lip seduction, raised on elbows of night’s shadow
under darkened night light floorboard glow
huddled over book of words.
Look of swords
sung to you
as teacher to open-eared student
as lover to open-pored possibility sponge
as singer to song
you sing along
unafraid to expose your unknown voice,
voice of showers
voice of long car ride solitude
early morning greet-the-day
late night prayer.
Your voice saved for me at that instant
which in another of its masks
teaches frailty of words
language as naïve, manipulative tool
language weapon
words as healing talisman of illusion
daily poesy, dream grasp fulfillment
balm cures woes
the wind up and the pitch.

Catch them on the air this night
Catch them, hold them inside tight
entwined, all dusty ancient words
shared history
pull essence from their outward form
peel the me from the it,
for the you
unwrap the purity, surround heart with intention.
Catch my words through his.

On the air
This night
gather your memories and stir.

Meeting Allen

2008-06-01T11:55:00.000-07:00

Fell in love with the man
Only met him once
Fell in love with his words
His life
His words were his life
Were his actions
His words
Were his life.
His friends, his travels, his moods
fears, deaths, births
fucks, tears, inadequacies, extraordinary
intellect, humor, passion, naiveté
words were his life were his journeys were his loves
Fell in love with the man
I only met once
After he sang off-key
pinched nose moan
read, bespectacled
his words to me. His life set to dance
faux operatic
rounds of rhythm and subtle movement
like his life never was
not subtle for one sweet moment
voice floating on years
up to our moist ears
balconied seats where lovers once
fondled each other
now filled by hipster intellectuals and yearning
boys
and beautiful wanna-beats
word whores, honesty junkies
Buddhist princes
From there, I saw not his rumpled suit or whitened walls
his black pool palsied eye hidden by reflected spotlight
his crooked tie nor dingy loafers
I saw his words rise like the breath of Lazurus
cloudy clarity, smoky sunlight sunflower vortex howling automobile screech
cantor’s voice of reassuring questioning
speculative surety
fearless terror.

Accompanied
by famous
idiosyncratic serial composer
misunderstood
farcical
joke compositions
like words
jokes
no punch line but candor
honesty the set-up
repetition the mantra
living the spiel.

Met over huge buffet, eye high
swirling piles of color
shaped shiny like fruits and wax veggies
bread and mountainous fish
cheeses, candles, garnishes green and purple
“Nice spread,” I said after circling.
His gaze never lifting from squishy hill
before him
plucking, prodding, choosing, rejecting
inspecting closely through smeared lenses
“That is usually my line,” he replied
poking at a kiwi with a crooked finger.

Beat Beats

2008-06-01T11:54:00.000-07:00

I don’t digs peoples who don’t digs beats
Beats is what this poor boy eats

Ginsberg, Corso, Kerouac
Bop at Freda’s Chicken Shack
Krupa, Elvin, Roy and Klook
Ferlinghetti, Kaufman, Steal This Book
Dr. Dre, Grandmaster Flash,
gamelan, reggae mon, cymbal crash
P-Funk, Stubblefield, Modileste,
Al Jackson in the groove wit Booker T.
celebration, masturbation, heartbeat hat
rimshot, bomb drop, ratta-tat-tat
DeJohnette, Roach and Blade and Tain, uh
the Messenger Blakey aka Buhaina
Dunbar, Barrett, rasta skank
Cobham and Rich lay it down like a tank

I don’t digs peoples who don’t digs beats
Beats is what this poor boy eats

Barefoot Tidepool

2008-06-01T11:53:00.000-07:00

Marine life
living swimmingly
coaxing islands to the shore

- for Gary Snyder

Nightmare

2008-06-01T11:52:00.000-07:00

red-tailed missile
childhood nightmare
the record:
failure
unknown
inadequacy.
wolf in the shadows

Whom Love

2008-06-01T11:51:00.000-07:00

(after Ginsberg)

Whom love?
He loved her!
Whom love?
He loved her!
Whom love?
He loved her!
Whom love?
He loved her!

Whom love?
We loved her!
Whom love?
We loved her!
Whom love?
You loved her!
Whom love?
You loved her!

Who do we love?
Who does she love?
Who do we love?
Who does she love?
Who do we love?
Who does she love?
Who do we love?
Who does she love?

Who do we love?
You love! You love them!
Who do we love?
You love! You love them!
Who do we love?
We love! We love you!
Who do we love?
You love! You love you!

Whom love?
We love you!
Whom love?
We love you!
Whom love?
You love you!
Whom love?
You love you!

II.
Whydja love?
We didn't wanna love!
Whydja love?
We didn't wanna love!
Whydja love?
You didn't wanna love!
Whydja love?
You didn't wanna love!

Who said love?
Who said we hadda love?
Who said love?
Who said we hadda love?
Who said love?
Who said you hadda love?
Who said love?
Who said you hadda love?

Who wantsa love?
We wanna love!
Who wantsa love?
We wanna love!
Who wantsa love?
We wanna love!
We wanna
We wanna
We wanna love!

Who wanted ta love?
Somebody musta wanted ta love!
Who wanted ta love?
Somebody musta wanted ta love!
Who wanted ta love?
Somebody musta wanted ta love!
Who wanted ta love?
Somebody musta wanted ta love!

They wanted ta love!
They needed ta love!
They wanted ta love!
They needed ta love!
They wanted ta love!
They needed ta love!
They wanted ta love!
They needed ta love!

They thought they hadda love!
They thought they hadda love!
They thought they hadda love!
They thought they hadda love!

He said he hadda love!
She said he better love!
He said he hadda love!
She said he better love!
He said he hadda love!
She said he better love!
He said he hadda love!
She said he better love!

What did she say he better love for?
What did she say he better love for?
What did she say he better love for?
What did she say he better love for?

Hadda get ridda him with a love!
Hadda get ridda him with a love!
Hadda get ridda him with a love!
Hadda get ridda him with a love!

He's still there building a love!
He's still there building a love!
He's still there building a love!
He's still there building a love!

III.
Perserverance did the job
Love & M'love Love & M'love
Perserverance did the job
Love & M'love Love & M'love

Love & M'love Love & M'love
Perserverance did the job
Love & M'love Love & M'love
Perserverance did the job

Play at love for the mob
Love & M'love Love & M'love
Play at love for the mob
Love & M'love Love & M'love

Love & M'love Love & M'love
Love M'love Love M'love
Love & M'love Love & M'love
Love M'love Love M'love

Love M'love Love M'love
Love M'love Love M'love
Love M'love Love M'love
Love M'love Love M'love

Bradley says Love & M'love
Perserverance did the job

- 8/15/97 inspired by Allen Ginsberg's "Hüm Bomb"

Bomb Threat

2008-06-01T11:49:00.000-07:00

"Grew up
with missile consciousness
grew up
with American Dream."

oh, to be your tortured soul
your squinting eye at life's obsessions
trusting first thought 1st impression
wanting only to be
whole.

- for Allen, 9/17/97

Triple Feature

2008-06-01T11:48:00.004-07:00

vast the search is on. Water flows down hill. Blood pumps thru
open time to tone the body and feed the soul miles of vein, artery, capillary
futures. for the impossible tumble towards the flickering flame
Odd that has created just enough motion planets orbit
I'd thought just enough friction suns. Rain falls from the sky.
I was past all that. to spur a bit of forward movement Isaac Newton
Somehow Forward towards something rubs bump on his head, enjoys a fine
presumed I was the "whatever," "whomever," "wherever," snack amidst
settled into life fill the void. brainstorm. I watch as she
cross-country uprooting scrapes her cuticles away with
years void, hole, emptiness, space, a one-sided razor blade
behind me, or so they'd have you believe. Just last month
The precipice beckons after 40 years of trimming
grants wings to the brave and clipping and ripping
the foolish sanding, harnessing 20 nails, toe and
the young. finger I was slapped awake by the
I am a loner confounding realization
The echo crosses who hates to be by myself that the entire
the chasm like the heart-warming brass call of the dinner bell
across though being by myself doesn't bother me nail grows
the fields (contradiction is the norm) not just the tip. I
come, dive, fly as long as the acceptance of the fact watched
whatever happened that I have an option a divet I'd furrowed
to the thrillseeker to not be a long time into my right
open-minded try-anything-once wide-eyed mystery chaser alone fuck you finger-
The jolt of freedom finally so is present. nail ease
frightening it's way from it's birthplace out lemming-
security, boredom, complacency like over the edge.
so cherished. and gone. I guess I'm one of the lucky
so clung to that call of the unknown ones to
the deep, dark, intriguing mystery have never lost
finally ripped from Van Winkel-esque numbness a whole
pierces the ear like that first note nail and had the
February 1964. Sunday night. joy of wonder minus
Your humanity spread out before you like a field on fire. the pain.

- 6/6/97 for William S. Burroughs (1914-1997)